Of the River and the Sea
by Aleycat4eva
Summary: They called her lazy, apathetic, and amoral. They also said she was, by turns, too smart and too dumb. She liked to think she was funny. None of them were wrong. OC/Self Insert
1. Meeting The End of Yourself

I do not own Naruto.

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><p>The thing about death, about really dying, she would say, is that it is nigh on impossible to describe. It's intense, beyond comprehension, insanely personal and yet at the same time infinitely beyond a single experience.<p>

Now, it could have been a simple cop out on her part. Maybe she didn't want to talk about it. Maybe it was a dark part of her existence she wanted to forget about. Maybe it frightened her to this day. Maybe the phantom sensation of leaving the physical realm haunted her dreams. Maybe the actual, tangible pain that squeezed her lungs and the ache she felt when she remembered she had left everything behind deterred her. Maybe it was the bowel-loosening sensation of fright, and maybe it was the hungry desperation for a family she could not reach that held her tongue. Perhaps it was the spiraling existential crisis it sent her into each time she thought too hard about the subject, or the lingering mental instability that would hang over her when it was spoken of. Or maybe it was the fact that describing death to the living was impossible.

With all of that in mind, it didn't stop her from trying to talk about it. She really did love to talk.

(Not so much about this, though. She would only really get into it if she trusted her conversation partner. She would also have to be thoroughly fucking wrecked for such a talk to take place. Like, painfully, horribly drunk. If she was going to spill something awkward, it was going to be awkward for everyone around, not just her.)

She wouldn't tell you how she died exactly.

_It was an overdose. Accidental, the clicker on her drip was broken and she pressed the button, like, six too many times. Multiple Staph infections and broken ribs hurt. Morphine made that hurt turn into detachment and warmth._

Or where.

_On a shitty hospital bed with a really itchy blanket that kept absolutely none of the cold out and a plastic wrapped pillow that crinkled each time she so much as breathed on it tucked under her head._

What she would tell you was that death was probably different for everyone. Some would most likely get pearly gates, others a lake of fire. Some would get a river whose banks teemed with lost souls, or a slate world covered in mist, or a feasting hall, or their ancestors' awaiting arms. There was probably a shit ton of deaths, she would theorize, but all she could tell you about was her own.

She would tell you that it wasn't what she expected, and then give a laugh that would have an edge to it. It wasn't instant death and then rebirth. There was a place that came after, but not really a place, because it was nothing.

It was a void, and she guessed she had become part of that nothing for a while. She didn't really know, because part of being nothing is not thinking. It's also having no sense of self, or time. Could she have even existed if she had no concept of herself existing? Shit, she was always horrible with philosophy.

Anyway, she was part of the empty chasm, and the chasm was part of her.

(It never really left.)

It pulled and pulled at her, but never really pulled hard. The endless void accepted that struggles would come, and it had an eternity to wait. It is forever blessed with patience, waiting for her to surrender whatever it was it needed. She struggled against it, against the vastness of it all, because it was too much for any single entity to understand. She was a single bodiless existence in all of space and time, submersed in an incomprehensible mess of absolute nothing. Tendrils of nothing slipped into her miasma of self, and they didn't hurt, and they didn't feel good. They were just kind of there, but then again not. She would say that the closest thing she could ever compare the Void to was an idea, because it existed, but it had no form and no inherent power. Yet at the same time it was the most powerful thing she could imagine, the most imposing presence ever, despite never having anything to give it presence.

So she clung onto… whatever, and curled tighter and tighter into her own self-but-not-self, and eventually she compressed tightly enough that she, in fact, became herself again. There she lay, a tight curl of something inside a great expanse of nothing, and that was a god damned feat of fucking magic.

For a while still she floated, something in the nothing, before she understood suddenly that she was leaving to go. She understood that the Void could not be with something inside of it, for such a thing was a paradox. In her soul she knew she would be back again sometime, some place, someday, and maybe then she might be ready to let go. That the Void would not accept her until she was ready to go, that until she could let go all of what she was, she would be barred from here. She was thankful, because being her-but-not-her had been okay, but also fucking terrible and weird. There was a sort of peace in it, a tranquility, she supposed. She knew that the nothing would wait until she could let go of all that made her, and she accepted that too. At peace with the choices that were made, she did not fight the Void when it began to push her away.

That is, she accepted right before the nothingness violently spat her out and she was free-falling through a straight up terrible tunnel of _fuck-that-shit_.

She was wrong, like, super fucking wrong. Oh God, she had pissed off the Void and now it was sending her to hell. She regretted so hard, like, why could she just give up everything that made her? Was it really so hard to let your entire existence be wiped away? It was just being cleaned from the state of the entire universe, it wasn't that hard, she could have done it! Honest!

Then she slammed essence first into a riot of physical sensation, and it was awful, just awful. She could see for the first time in what felt like forever, and everything was blurry. The light seared into her eyes with the force of a million angry bees, and it was all skin toned giants and dancing shadows. It was colors and colors and so many fucking colors.

If seeing was bad, hearing was infinitely worse. The noise was deafening. What sounded like a really bad opera blared around her, sung in the voices of three or four different women. One of whom was screaming. It made her head heart and it terrified her.

It smelled like blood, human feces, and maybe a little vomit.

Her body felt something akin to jello, like really really hungry jello. Her limbs felt like a more solid manifestation of rippling water. Which was horrifying, by the way. It was sorta like the universe was saying "Welcome back to existence, remember how terrible this shit was?"

She was exchanged from one pair of titan hands to another, and there was a cooing sound, and then it clicked.

She had just been reborn.

She was a baby.

High on physical sensation and dawning horror, she laughed so hard she cried.

On a balmy fall night on October tenth, Watanabe Ryuishi was born in Kirigakure, The Village Hidden In the Mist, and her bewildered infant laughter filled the night air.

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><p><strong>AN: WE GIVE THANKS TO THE GREAT BETA ENBI. Bless her for going through old chapters and correcting horrible mistakes.<strong>


	2. Meeting your Infancy, Sorta

AN-I don't own Naruto. Also, looking for a beta.

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><p>Ryuishi was an odd baby, and a nightmare for her mother.<p>

At eight months she seems to have slept her life away.

(_She is waking up, and it is hard after being nothing for so long. Her senses are dulled, but it still seems like to much. Ever sensation on her smooth skin is overwhelming. Every sight and sound seems multiplied by a thousand by her standards. If she had to compare it to anything, she would say that being alive again after spending time in the void is like dropping LSD and ecstasy right before going to your very first rave. So, she copes by sleeping a fuck ton. _)

At nine months she is crawling.

(_When she wasn't sleeping she was lying there, subtly flexing her muscles. Whether it was in her crib or in A twitch here, a flex there. She can't do much more than that because her whole body seems to be made of lumpy mashed potatoes masquerading as flesh. It makes her kinda angry, actually. She remembers being able to scrabble up rock walls with only her hands and she can recall kicking the caps off of friend heads. Now she has trouble lifting her head. But the anger motivates her. This is her body and she will exert an astounding amount of control over it, just like always. Her mind knows how it feels, it simply needs the body to follow._)

At a year she is gibbering away, mimicking strings of syllables with her heavy infant tongue, either the first or last sounds Keiko makes.

(_The tongue is a muscle too, and one that will help form her greatest tools, words_. _That being said, this language is tricky. Not as tricky as mandarin, but still pretty tough. She finally appreciates parrots though. Having a stiff, inflexible tongue is huge set back, no matter how much she comprehends, and the birds she once made fun of now have her grudging respect. _)

At eighteen months she is walking, and running and potty trained.

(_The toilets are fucking weird here, she decides. Her nursery is super boring, and she needs to explore. She doesn't mind being doted on, or being cared for. What she does mind is the complete and utter lack of mental stimulation. So when she finally finds her way to her feet she leaves the boring ass room as fast as possible. It is then she discovers she lives in a brothel, which is strange, but she isn't here to judge._)

At two, she is sloppily painting her first characters, and speaking in full sentences.

(_Only hiragana, because none of the girls know any kanji of romanji. Also, fuck calligraphy brushes, that shit is nonsense. She wanted pens, dammit, pens. Hell, chalk would be better than this painting nonsense. As for speaking... it is way easier to learn a language when you have absolutely no other option. Do or die. Practice or sound mentally impotent forever. Total immersion type shit._)

At three she can speak with surprising eloquence, but most of the time Keiko has trouble getting her to not speak like a thug. She is reading slowly, but her characters are still sloppy.

_(There's too many curse words and too little time. Also, seriously, fuck those brushes. They make her so angry with their stupid wooden handles and furry bristles. She must have snapped ,like, at least six in her attempts to paint those shitty words. The Okiya Mother is not happy about that, and the woman takes over her lessons herself. She is a strict, unbending woman who reminds her of of Professor McGonagall from Harry Potter. Well, if McGonagall had been a Slytherin instead of a Gryffindor._)

Like she said, her daughter was weird. Watanabe Keiko knew weird, too. It was kind of hard to miss as a whore.

She did not lament the fact that she sold herself for money, oh gods no, that was stupid. Men paid money to wiggle around on top of her for a little while, and she got to live in a nice house with adequate food and access to medicine. She even got some spending money after matron and the guards to their cut. This was much better than living on the streets, especially in a shinobi village. Especially a starving, economically crushed shinobi village.

She did lament the fact that her daughter stood out so much from the other children.

Keiko had thought that she knew strange but this was a new type of weird that she was not entirely familiar with. Her beautiful girl was an anomaly to her, and to all who lived in the Okiya. Ryuishi was by turns much too smart and at the same time utterly stupid. She picked up crawling so fast she was almost a prodigy , and the walking even faster, but still her words came out slow and forcibly enunciated. And her manners! Keiko may have been a whore, but she was a polite whore at least. Ryuishi on the other hand was blunt and loud and often times communicated more like a grunting, hissing animal than a human being.

It was not an uncommon sight to see Ryuishi stretching in the small courtyard of the building they lived in, mumbling things to herself in the fog. The younger girls would often gather to watch her when she was a toddler, cooing at how cute the faces she made were. Keiko simply had to follow the trail of baby noises to find her daughter. The toddler also liked to languidly stretch herself out on the window seals, her dark slanted eyes observing them with a calm curiosity.

Unfortunately, it was not out of place to find her daughter carefully eyeing the customers as well, watching them with too intelligent eyes and searching their faces before approaching them. It was always after they had finished with the girls that Ryuishi would corner them, batting her eyelashes and pouting her lips, a rejuvenating cup of tea in her hand for her carefully selected target. It was never the rude ones, her mother noticed, or the ones that would become rough with the girls. Her daughter chose the clients that were nervous or seemingly unsure, new or one time only customers, careful to stay away from those who would react badly to living evidence that couplings did not always end without consequence.

Lies would drip from the little girls mouth like nectar and the unassuming males would fall for her innocent guise. The raven haired toddler would coo nonsense at the patrons, flooding them with compliments and ego boosting words, all which seemed innocent from the mouth of a child, but laden with heavy innuendo. Keiko had been concerned that her daughter had been listening to too many of her 'onee-chans' pillow talks before she began to see the little trophies Ryuishi kept from the exchanges. Bits of ninja wire and pieces of rope, wire mesh and sharp little hooks,small candies that were never eaten and a few small coins here and there for her services as the innocent little ego stoker. What the girl was collecting the for, she was unsure. What she was sure of was that her daughter had a manipulative streak a mile wide.

And that mark! The disfigurement was usually hidden behind robes, but it was there, a seal of some sorts twisting in between her babies chubby little shoulders and twisting down her spine. The mother had taken one peek at it after the birth and headed straight for the almanacs. Days later she had come out of her room and declared it a most auspicious sign from the heavens, a sign that her baby was to lead the brothel to riches. Looking at her child's beautiful coal colored, almond shaped eyes, full black hair, and sand colored skin, Keiko knew exactly how Mother thought she would lead them to riches.

(_Consequently, Ryuishi learned some things that day. Turns out tattoos really are forever. Like, forever, all your lives and afterlives. She also learned that whores are the most superstitious people you will ever fucking meet. The mother had a whole room dedicated to about a billion scrolls on astrology and horoscopes and omens and shit. Mother also took all signs of her rapid progress as more signs of fortune._)

Keiko prayed that this would not be the case, and she would be able to earn her place in the Okiya for both of them until her baby could make her own way in life. Keiko held out hope, because Ryuishi was a strong child, strong and healthy. It was more than most could say under the reign of the fourth Mizukage.

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><p>Ryuishi was firmly convinced that this was the absolute craziest shit since whoever invented meth, invented meth.<p>

In her old life, Ryuishi had been a jack of all trades, master of very few. It turned out she would need probably every single one of those skills to survive. She thanked and cursed her prior knowledge in turns. Thanked because she had been born into the Naruto world, and even living in Kirigakure was safer than any one of the Seven Kindoms of Westeros, or any Marvel dimension, or Psycho Pass or about a million others. Thanked because she knew what to expect, and most of her some of her skills would serve her very well in this new plane of existence.

She cursed it because it was not her world, with her family. Who would lead them now? Who would make sure mom and dad weren't at each others throats? Who would keep her house clean? Would her friends be able to afford it without her income? Who would watch her little sister (_herbabyherbabyherbaby-_), talk with her, make her smile, make sure she was okay? Who would run her out to fast food joints at three AM and make sure her hair always looked her best? How was she, was she alright? What if she was sick, or pushing herself too hard in sports? (**_herbabyherbabyherbaby-_**). She cursed because she was now in a world ruled by martial law at the best of times, and chaos under the worse.

(_The epiphany about her current universe had been fairly simple actually. When she had hit eighteen months she had woken up with the sickening feeling of pressure right under her skin. It had felt like her whole body wanted to throw up through her pores. Crying and afraid, she had went to the nearest woman, who had been the Matron, who had snickered at the sniveling child and informed her that the feeling was not a sign that she was going to become deathly ill, but was simply her chakra making itself known._

_Which meant that somewhere, somehow, something had decided to give Cat Frank, now known as Watanabe Ryuishi, power. _

_Which was really dumb of them_.)

Anyway…

Her survival skills from her doomsday father would probably serve her very, very well. She could fish, forage, hunt and trap with the best of them assuming that not to many of the natural fauna differentiated from her past. She could point out animal paths and edible greens and tubers already from her window.

She also point out starving children in the streets. This would need to be rectified.

Her social skills were nonexistent. Honestly, she had dutifully learned the etiquette of her new world and then immediately tossed it out. Cat Frank had been rude, blunt, often times to passionate and much to duplicitous for her own good, and Ryuishi would probably be the same. Change took effort, something she could not seem to give. Changing, she figured, sounded exhausting. Besides, she had spent years fostering that personality and she refused to throw the result of previous efforts out. So, she may not know how to interact with people or make meaningful connections, but damn if she didn't know how to twist words and manipulate situations to her own benefit.

Physical skills were also a benefit, because for some reason she had maintained her body, just not her age. (_Fuck if she knew how, because the statistics behind that were probably so astronomically small it was incomprehensible._) That meant she knew just exactly how athletic she could be. She would never be fast or long lasting, she would be ungodly flexible and unusually strong. In her old life she had taken gymnastics, and dabbled in Mui Thai, wrestling, and eskrima. Though her body may have forgotten the moves, she herself had not. That had to count for something, right?

Finally, not to toot her own horn or anything, she was clever. Not wise though, and believe her, those were two entirely different breed of thing. Clever meant that she could make a trebuchet out of twigs and string. Without the wisdom though, she would use that same trebuchet to launch palm sized stones inside the brothel, flinging them straight through the paper screens that vivisected the place until they finally found their way through a window.

(_She had never been spanked so hard in her previous life. The Okiya Mother had the worlds boniest hands, she swore to God.)_

She would live because she was smart, her strength and ability to survive would help, but ultimately she knew that she had to use her brain. There would be no surviving the Academy if she was stupid, and yes she was going to the Academy, bloody graduation exam or not, because she was in this world now and she accepted that wholly and totally. It meant she had a say about what would happen now, and she could change it, plot be damned. Because frankly, amazing as the plot was, too many kids had experienced far too much. She had been a good sister to one, and she would try to do so for many more.

She would never know what it was like to hold a demon inside of her, or watch her family die, or what it was like to be a child soldier. What she did know was how it was like to live far below the poverty line, to go to bed hungry, belly aching and hollow, cramping just below her skin. She did know what it was like to be cold, alone and lost. She wasn't stupid enough to believe that she could fix everybody or even that all her extensive study in psychology could heal the wounds these people held.

Ryuishi did believe though that life was meant to be lived in the present, and that every stranger deserved whole hearted love until they showed that they didn't. She believed that there were things that she could do, that she would do, starting here and now, because everyone deserved a choice, and everyone needed a chance. Even murders and thieves and maniacs.

So she didn't have kunai, or good monetary funding, or mental stability. She would improvise. She would adapt. Most of all, she would overcome.

...Or, maybe should do nothing, because now that she thought about it, it sounded like a lot of work.


	3. Meeting the Children of Mist

I do not own Naruto.

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><p>When Ryuishi turns four, she decides that it is time to get to work outside of the brothel. She has spent enough time dicking around in her new home. Her choice had nothing to do with the fact that Mother had caught her testing out her chakra control and trying to climb the walls. Nope, Ryuishi wasn't scared of the shrewd woman's gaze, not one bit. So she scoots out of a window in the cylinder shaped building and disappears into the mist.<p>

Kiri is full of those. Big, ugly stone buildings shaped like soup cans. It looks like some weird planet from Star Wars, she decides as she pulls her hair up into a bun. Kind of like a dystopian nightmare version of Naboo, all old and tattered concrete and succulent climbing vines. There are chips missing from just about every wall, and cracks snake out from the stone as far as the eye can see. From those cracks, vibrant green vines creep across the ground, the walls, the roofs, everything. There's an abundance of nature that makes the city look like ruins. The occasional tree pokes out from cracked streets. They are thick barked, leafy things that rise from the ground like squat giants, tall and ugly. The overgrown shrubs catch droplets of condensation from the air and dripdripdrip them methodically to the vines below. There are rivers, natural and man made, that slither through the streets, carrying all the trash dropped into them. They run sluggishly, choked thick with garbage and human waste, the water oozing through canals like pus from an infected wound.

Ah, shit, that was some gross imagery. She regrets it. Gross, gross, why did her mind go to a place like that?

The ever present mist hangs heavy in the air, and Ryuishi is sure it isn't completely natural. Not any more. It is too heavy, too thick, and always around. It feels like a tangible force that weighs down on her, soaking into her clothes, her skin, her bones. The liquid smoke pours from every inch of the environment and curls in the air, before settling deep in her lungs. The air is stagnant and stinks of rot and mildew, and she finds that of all the things she missed in this place, it is the wind, not the sun. Wind would clear this place out, the sun would only make the smell worse. Quietly, she revises her previous opinion. This city doesn't look like a brain child of George Lucas. It looks like the bastard offspring of Silent Hill and a public restroom. Ryuishi continues walking, eyes darting around, half expecting to see some sort of grosser version of Pyramid Head to burst out of an alley and accost her.

_Well, if that's to be the case_, she thinks, _I better put my fucking hair up._

She finishes tying her hair up with a flourish of her dexterous fingers and take a deep breath.

Okay.

Okay.

Slanted coal eyes peek curiously through the fog, categorizing exactly where she had ended up on her escapade. The walls lack any familiar signs of deterioration, and the creek that dribbles ahead is completely foreign to her.

She's lost.

Fuck it. She'll just get started on her project in the middle of fucking nowhere on a fleeting whim, without any prior planning or proper research. She's pretty sure it will come back to bite her in the ass, but she has nothing better to do. Maybe she'll find a way back to the brothel later. Or maybe she'll die, brutally murdered by emaciated six year old orphans. Who cares? She's always up for a game of unexpected death.

It takes Ryuishi five more minutes of careful searching to locate what will be her first bunch. There are three of them, huddled in the end of an alleyway that reeks of piss and garbage. They are in some weird sort of dog pile on the ground that she supposes is best for warmth, but when she looks at it, all she can think is that it looks very wet. One is drowsing from the edge of the heap, and it is her who spots Ryuishi first. She looks about eight, and her hair is a drab almost-blond. When the streetrat sees the whore's daughter coming closer, she growls and kicks the other two awake, and soon six eyes are staring down at her. How tall can starving children get, for Christ's sake?

"We don't got no room, go 'way," the blonde growls out, clenching her hands into fists.

"I can show you how to get food," Ryuishi counters, a single brow arched at the aggressive display. Maybe that whole murdered in an alleyway idea wasn't to far off.

"We already know how tah steal, dummy." But the blond is peering a little closer, her hands loosening.

"I can show you something that's better. Something that isn't likely to end up with the shit getting kicked out of you."

Eyes narrowed and suspicious, the girl leans in closer, and suddenly she can smell the reek on her, can see the grit in the corners of her eyes and the slime on her clothes. Ryuishi is suddenly hit with the impulsive need to wrangle this child into a pool of soap and scrub her so hard her skin turns pink. She cannot stand grime.

"If ya lyin', we'll beat the snot outta ya," she hisses. But Ryuishi isn't dumb, she knew that when she chose them. She also knows that she has to pick a group that is not only small and young, but also desperate. Desperate enough to trust someone as young as herself, desperate enough to learn no matter the cost. With a jerk of her head, she convinces the group to follow her and leads them to one of the gross looking creeks to show them what she knows.

At first, they are suspicious when she pulls the wire from her little yukata, and they get even worse when she pulls out three large pieces of stiff wire mesh. Then she rolls the largest into a barrel and ties it in that shape, and she rolls the other two into funnels, pointing the tip of them inside the barrel and matching up the outer edges before tying them. The contraption is about the size of a small microwave, mostly because it is hard to fit wire mesh pieces on her tiny, tiny body. To the three, it looks like a piece of garbage, and then that thought gets a little too near the current situation because Ryuishi tells them to get the nastiest, most rotten piece of meat they can find and bring it to her.

"If this doesn't work I'll make ya eat it," The blond hisses.

"If this doesn't work I'll eat it by myself." That is a bold faced lie. If this doesn't work she's gonna get the hell outta dodge and try again with other brats at a later point in time.

When they leave, it is in a group, and she is left alone. Ryuishi can respect that. Three is big enough that you can get assistance when surviving, but small enough that the local shinobi won't have won't have thoughts about clearing them out to cut down on the 'riff raff'. Twisting a wire, she lets out a soft snort—as if most of the shinobi in this twisted little village didn't come from the same place themselves.

As she's cutting an opening, Ryuishi ponders the duplicitous nature of the Mist village and the turbulent time she was born in. The village is purging itself, committing a genocide of its bloodline users. It's crippling itself, though it doesn't know it yet. To do such a thing is a bout of horrendous stupidity, she thinks, especially in a time of war.

And oh, isn't she lucky? To be born during the eve of the Third Shinobi War? Because nobody is looking quite too hard at the genin they push through the academy, and ages are almost completely ignored. Cannon fodder is simply that, and the children they push to the front lines are never expected to make it back. If they do, it comes as a pleasant surprise, a sort of gift that the Mizukage has prevented himself from getting. Not that the Mizukage is actually acting under his own will, of course. In all actuality, it's a very clever plot by that Uchiha jackass that effectively makes sure that Kiri never has enough power to stand against him. Or is it? She's not completely sure of the timeline yet.

She twists one final wire tight and waits a few minutes for the others to return, keeping an eye out for trouble. When they do come back, the one who had slept on the bottom of the pile thrusts something disgusting in her face. Maybe it was once… chicken? Holy shit, Ryuishi can't even tell. It's rotted and slimy, omitting an odor that reminds her of hot pepper diarrhea, and she wants to vomit her morning breakfast. A few white maggots undulate inside of it, and her stomach squirms harder in a valiant effort to make her hurl.

It's perfect.

She lets the boy place it inside the trap and lowers it into the water by a strand of rope before tying it to a nearby boulder. Then she motions to the group follow.

Follow they do, and for a few hours they sneak about, Ryuishi teaching them things along the way. From the riverside they dig up cattail roots and baby fern shoots that curl out of the soil. In shadow of a ruined apartment complex they pluck wild garlic from the ground, and snatch together bundles of vines. They collect dry, dead grass and bundles of driftwood and a long flat stone. The group learns how to dig a gypsy well and how to filter the water with gravel, sand, and charcoal. (That last bit was harder to find and she had been forced to sneak into somebody else's yard and steal from their ash pit.)

To those that see them they look like any other orphan group, lost and hungry, searching for something, anything to eat. Nobody asks, actually most of the time they pretend not to even see them. Ryuishi finds that to be a totally dick move. The shinobi sometimes peer curiously, but the group does their best to avoid them, sneaking through back alleys and twisting paths in the fog like silent little mice. They stash their things in the gang's alleyway before pulling up the trap hours later. The group gasps behind her, and even Ryuishi is a little surprised.

Inside are dozens of eels, writhing around like a nest of particularly pissed off noodles. They gasp for air and reveal mouths filled with stubby, sharp little teeth, and the noise they make, all moving together, sounds like something out of a porno. The children behind her make noises of disgust but she shushes them and orders them to bring her the sharpest rock they can find, and to filter some water for her. Cleaning these things is gonna be a bitch. The group watches her with some morbid curiosity as she slams the heads off of their thin bodies with the sharp edge of a stone and then peels their rubbery skin off.

"Eels live in gross water and love meaty garbage," she tells them as she scoops the guts out of yet another with her pinky nail. Regret fills her because she knows the smell is going to cling to her hands and clothes like a bad ex. "Even if the water has no air, and looks like it's full of scum, they can survive. I never saw anybody fishing for them, but I saw the birds eat them," she explains.

The group is quiet as she leads them back to the alley, a stinking pile of eel flesh in her trap, washed semi clean by the water from their new 'well'. They watch as she lights a fire in the bottom of a tipped over metal barrel with the dead grass and driftwood, and then hides the beacon of light with the tattered remains of a blanket. They wonder silently when she cleans the stone of dirt and places it inside with cautious, pudgy hands. The cattail roots go inside the coals and she slices the eel, the fern, and the peeled garlic with her sharp edged stone into thick blocks, and leaves them on the sizzling hot stone. Soon, a smell begins to fill the air, the smell of smoke and food, and the group worries about others coming before the girl snorts and points out the fact that they are surrounded by apartments that will funnel the smoke up instead of out, and the smell of the filth around them is too pungent to break through.

The blond watches with a particular awe when it is finished and the girl pulls a hot pile of food from the barrel like magic. The girl passes around the now roasted roots to be peeled of their burnt skins and eaten, and the brat passing it out looks like some sort of angel. The trio descends and devours the meal like locusts, ignoring the woody texture of the roots and the muddy taste of the eel. It is food, pulled out from places they had never acknowledged, never thought to look. It sits heavy and solid in their stomach and blond can't remember when she had last been full. It warms her, and she is sleepy, and her group is safe for another day. Better yet, she can gather more food the same way tomorrow.

She looks at the little girl in front of her, so clean and well kept, even after all the digging and cleaning and work. She's too healthy to be like them, her hair too nice and her skin too unblemished. So why would she care?

"Because you're children."

The blond is surprised, because she hadn't realized that she had spoken out loud. And also, isn't she a kid like them?

"You're kids," the girl says again, and the blond is scared because when she looks into her dark eyes, it's not like a kid's eyes. It's hollow and dark and _emptyemptyempty_, it's the look she saw in the eels' eyes when the girl cut their head off. It is dead. But this girl, this thing, it's talking and—

"You should be cared for, loved and cherished. You're not supposed to on the streets like dirty fucking animals, you deserve better for no other reason that you exist. You had no choice coming into this world, and the people that leave you like that, they're shit. You deserve to be here, you deserve a chance to live. If that means I have to teach you, hide from shinobi and run away every day, then so be it. Then you can teach other kids, and they can teach even more. Who needs the adults? By the time I'm done, there won't be any lonely kids left, because every orphan in Kiri will be family. They will be a tribe."

—and then the blond doesn't care, because nobody has ever told her that sorta stuff. Nobody ever said she should get a chance just because, nobody told her she didn't have to prove herself.

No one had ever said that she was enough.

So she ignored the empty eyes on the little girl who wasn't a little girl, and she didn't say a word. She just smiled and asked her when she could learn more.

Together, they begin to plot.


	4. Meeting the Darker Side of the Red Light

I do not own Naruto. Trigger warnings for dark themes of a sexual nature, gore, violence, mentions of pedophilia. Maybe cannibalism?

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><p>Ryuishi leaves the alley when it is dark and the red lanterns of the akasen district are just beginning to be lit. Their red glow spreads out and blurs in the gloomy mist, painting the early evening crimson. Already she can spot men and women emerging, prowling the streets for a customer or a partner. If her previous actions with the brats hadn't been so profitable, she would regret coming out at all. She is young and passably pretty, and nights in the red light district can be very, very dangerous.<p>

_This is exactly why I need to plan ahead_, she thinks to herself, keeping her eyes on the ground. _This is what comes to fruition when you don't plan out every detail, when you act so rash. You end up in the red light district, in Kiri, at night, where every fetish is fed and morals are nowhere to be found_. What if somebody tries to buy her? What if somebody doesn't even try? She might not be a blushing virgin, but this body is. What if some Matron decides she's running low on daughters and wants to restock her stables?

Where the _fuck_ is her brothel?

She can't even begin to explain where she is in relation to every other building, because the district is a sprawling maze without any sense of order. It's entirely too much like London, with alleyways spreading out in every direction and streets winding back on themselves. It's probably to confuse intruders, but all it seems to do is confuse natives who haven't memorized these pathways for their entire lives. It's not like maps exist, as helpful as they would be. Apparently, that would just be begging for an organized attack. Not that a Kumo nin could even fit on half of these streets, as narrow as they are. Maybe she should ask one of the nicer looking women? No, that's risky as hell, nobody likes an _akasenko_.

The name makes her want to snort bitterly. Child of the red line, whore's child, harlot's brood. Like the job her mom chose was a bad one. Whoring was the world's oldest profession, and it had few masters. Keiko chose to work her way up, and the place she had now, even after having a child, was nothing short of respectable. Respectable, because Keiko chose this path and walked it willingly. But respectable or not, Ryuishi is wearing a child's body, and she has no want to become a prostitute… _ever_. Her gut is churning and she wants to vomit, wants to make a joke, but nothing right now is funny.

She'll admit it, she's scared.

Her feet move a bit faster, tearing her eyes away from the ground in a move that is equal parts bold and desperate. She needs to find the brothel before somebody tries to take her. _Nobody notice me_, she prays, _I am nothing, nobody. I am silent. I am the quiet of the grave. I am a single raindrop in the river._ Ryuishi prays the prayers that Cat Frank's mother once taught her in the panic of her head.

_I am nothing, I am nobody, I am the quiet of the grave. I am a raindrop in the river, and a river in the sea. Please, __**please**__, let those that passed and shared my blood protect and guard me_. She chants it again and again inside her head, her knuckles white as her hands grip tightly together. Her footsteps are brisk and even, her face serene and eyes pointed down at the hands clasped firmly together in front of her. Her mind is screaming.

The sound of her steps is soon drowned out by the noise of many more. The streets are beginning to fill up, and she can feel curious, appraising eyes on her. Ryuishi wants to rip those eyes out of their observing faces with her tiny fucking hands and mash them in her palms. How _dare_ they! She looks just like a kid! Her body is barely out of toddlerhood!

She can scream and rage and cry all she wants, but this is Kiri. She knows that as long as it doesn't upset the power balance or further destroy the economy, anything goes. There are kids dying on the streets and civilians being murdered in their homes. Nobody cares. It's a world full of child soldiers and physics-destroying superpowers. Demons walk the motherfucking earth, and murders rise from the goddamned dead. Nobody in power cares unless it directly affects them.

She suddenly wishes she had more than ninja wire and scraps on her. She would punch a baby in the fucking face for her old tactical knife. Or pepper spray, or anything else really at this point. This isn't LA, or Chicago, and she is not a woman grown who can without fear, comfortable in the knowledge she can protect herself. She is wearing a hilariously weak body, which is horribly unsuited for combat. She suddenly wishes that she hadn't spent her time networking, and instead had focused on training up her body. Sure, it would be hard to go unnoticed, but she doubts she alread has anyway. Being a full grown adult is hard to hide. She is sure that Keiko has noticed, and knows for sure that Kagami Okaa-sama has.

(Originally, she didn't really care if she stood out. Then she figured out which time period she was in, and where she was at. They were already wiping out clans, and prodigies were regarded with wary and hateful eyes. You did not stand above your cast in Kiri, lest you be cut down.)

If she lives through tonight, she is going to train her body into a weapon, so it won't matter if she is unarmed.

She spots little feet passing by hers and looks up briefly to catch the dead gaze of boy who can't be more than thirteen, walking with an older woman. Her panicked musing is shattered. His drugged gaze catches hers, and for a single second, she can read his pity, his despair.

All of her humor and bitter apathy bleeds out of her.

Rage blooms hot in her heart and she grits her jaw tight, clenching her hands so tightly together her that nubby nails bite into her skin. Ryuishi wants to draw him away, to take every child in this shitty village and clutch them tight. She wants to hold them and watch this whole fucking city burn to the ground, to rejoice in the screams of the uncaring adults and bask in the wailing of its leaders. She wishes for the power to wrap the ocean around her like a second skin and ride it here, to wash this place clean and watch the ugly, disgusting monsters be swallowed up by the unrelenting salt water and brine. She wants the wind to tear them down, and the earth to swallow them up. She wants to break things, to burn them, to burn the ashes, and to wash all that remains away into the sea.

The boy offers her a comforting smile that breaks her heart and continues to walk away, his arm clutched tight in the talon of a filthy predator of a woman. Cold loathing consumes her, and the ocean inside her soul rages, a storm of guilt and hate and sorrow.

She keeps walking. She is only four.

She hasn't even made it a full block away when a callused hand is suddenly pulling on her arm. She shouldn't have stopped, should have been more aware of her surroundings. Ryuishi wants to run, but the hand is too tight. She looks up at the nameless assaulter, sees his disgusting green eyes and unbrushed brown hair. In another time, in another place, his five o'clock shadow would have been considered roguish and handsome. His hair would have been charmingly tousled. Now, in her eyes, all she can see is a vile piece of trash. He is a pretty piece of garbage wearing a false skin, someone who looks like he isn't capable of what she knows he is.

"Now, aren't you a pretty little doll. Are you one of Mama Hui's young little flowers?" he asks in a firm voice.

His words make her hate him.

"I am not for sale," she spits out coldly. If he will not respect her, perhaps he will respect the law of the akasen.

He laughs and runs a grubby paw across her nicely coiffed hair. Ryuishi should not have hoped. Her spine stiffens and she watches as his eyes go dark, his expression suddenly predatory. Plans are running fast pace through her head, and her gut sinks into her sandals. His arm is suddenly as tight as a bulldog's mouth on her arm. Her mind freezes on a single form of escape. She has to plan, she has to act.

"Well, it's better to ask for forgiveness instead of permission, right?"

And then he is dragging her, even as she tries to squirm free. She tries to yell for help. She gets a few glances, but his placid, consolatory smile send turns them away. They think she is just nervous, or perhaps she is a runaway, or maybe that this is just an act. She hates them too. She digs her heel in, but he is so much stronger than her. Suddenly all her fears are validated.

"Mama Hui will understand. After all, I am her best customer. I just want a taste, and then I'll walk you right back, okay? Come on little daisy, it'll be alright," he coos, pulling her into an alleyway between two shadier brothels. It is dark, and the air smells like stale sweat and leftovers and booze. She hates him so much, so so much.

He pushes her onto the ground and grasps her hands in his, smiling all the while. Ryuishi tries to kick him, but her legs are small and she holds no power now. He seems delighted by it all, some sort of power trip if she had to guess. Her struggles just seem to feed his ego.

"Be still little daisy, It's all right, hush now, I've got you," he calms, caging her in.

"Let me go! I'm not for sale!" she screams out at him, "Let me go, let me go, _let me go_!"

He chuckles at her, and she stills, eyes gazing up through tear stained lashes, cheeks flushed pink from the effort. "Now little daisy, it'll be alright. It'll only hurt a little, now, lets get you warm," he chuckles out, pressing his chest against her, his arms wrapping around her. His thick, heavy hands are kneading into her back and slide down to her waist, her thighs. His grip is like steels and he smells like grass. His hug forms a cage and traps her hands between them, smashing her arms against his chest. The position is forcing her head to lie on top of his shoulder and it presses her face into the crook of his neck. Ryuishi can feel his breath ghosting down her skin, and she knows this might be her only chance.

She opens her mouth as wide as it can go and sinks her teeth into his neck.

The table have turned and he is the one screaming now, his arms scrabbling to push her away. Ryuishi feels warm, coppery blood flood her mouth and squishes a piece of his flesh out of her mouth before biting harder, biting and shaking her head like a dog, ripping things, crushing bones between her baby teeth. The action feeds the cold rage in her heart. The stormy ocean of her soul is mollified by the carnage and the seas inside of her run red. Her snarls turn to gurgles as the liquid bubbles at the corners of her mouth and chunks slide down her chin.

His hands wrap in her hair and try to pull her free, but her jaw is clenched tight, and she is too high on panic and anger to feel the hairs he rips from her scalp. His actions free her hands, which dart up to his neck, her little fingers crawling into the edge of his wounds, squirming inside the opening like sentient hooks. His howling is weakening, but it isn't enough, won't be enough. It only ends when her hand grasps around the edges of the wound, fingers sunk into flesh, and rip the front of his neck free from the rest of his body. His hand slumps out of her hair and his body folds beneath him, his glassy eyes glued to the wall behind her. He is dead before he finishes crashing to the trash covered floor.

Ryuishi stands over the body and spits the remains of him out her mouth and into his unseeing eyes, and pants like and animal, endorphins running strong. She looks at the corpse, and screams in rage, flinging his trachea back at him. Her weak little leg, so useless before, stomps his stupid fucking face, again and again, until the nose is pancaked and his front teeth are gone.

She shrieks at the lifeless thing again, her call cutting through the alley air like a blade, her eyes fixed on its ruined visage. Her feelings rush out with the howl, the anger and fear and despair, and she empties herself then and there, bidding him to take these things with him as he descends to hell. She will bury her these with the memory of him.

_Let my screams carry you down. Let my rage be the only sound you hear in the Void that is death_, she prays.

Then, breathless and tired and covered in the remains of of a lecherous pedophile, she feels better.

She is filthy, she is tired, and looking down at a corpse she has just created, she doesn't care. Her heart is cold. She doesn't regret his death one fucking bit.

(When she leaves the alleyway, she does not notice the disgusted, curious eyes following her steps.)

Nobody bothers the ragged, blood-covered child again, and eventually she finds her way back to the Okiya, guided by a helpful hooker who lived with her at the brothel. Kagami Okaa-sama sent them searching, and somewhere she feels pleased with that thought. But the Nee-chan is too late, far too late.

She is not who she was when she left, and a monster was born in that alley.

(It will be a while before she realizes she was not the only one to witness its birth.)


	5. Meeting the Mental Breakdown

I do not own Naruto

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><p>Madam Kagami, Matron of the Kagami brothel, ex-chuunin and possibly one of the best honeypots Kiri had ever produced, had been waiting for a sign from the moment Keiko's pregnancy had failed to terminate. She was a superstitious woman, and so the moment the black root tea had been reported to fail, she had looked closer at the young whore and took notice. It was a subtle sign, but a sign none the less. The second time, she watched the woman drink the brew herself to make sure that it wasn't a ruse. It failed. Together they tried one final time, brewing the tea so strong it made Keiko sick for days afterward. Still the woman's belly grew.<p>

(She should have read the signs better.)

So Madam Kagami allowed the child to be born, taking it as a sign from the heavens that this child was meant to be. She attended the birth herself, watching the struggling woman push and bleed and sweat to bring forth the baby which had refused to die. When it came out with one final heave and a scream, she was the one to catch it in her hands, to see it blink its dark eyes. She was the first one to see the mark on its back. A clever depiction of the yin and yang taking the form of a white fox chasing a sleek black feline inked into between the babe's shoulders. The figures were encircled by skeletal body of a great serpent, whose body curled around her tan skin, its skull resting on her spine with its fangs bare. She was the first to witness its utter abnormality.

A shiver had run down her spine at the sight, and she had fled to her rooms, searching for portents and omens among the scrolls in her office, hoping for a sign. She searched shelf after shelf, surrounded by the smell of dust and accompanied only by the passing light of the days. The scrolls only confirmed what she knew: The fox for opportunity, the cat for wealth, and the snake for good fortune. Although the signs pointed to a great future, Kagami had been uneasy. The child was unnatural, and her gut said that it was not meant to be here.

Looking at the figure before her, she knew it to be true.

Little Ryuishi had been missing since morning, since Kagami had discovered her climbing the sleek Okiya walls in a masterful display on chakra control. They had been worried as the time began to pass. The worry had turned frantic when the sun began to set. The akasen was no place for a young child. Things would happen, unpleasant things. So when the night had truly began to darken, a chosen few were sent to find the girl, but they were not expecting to find her like this. Assaulted, abused, or violated, these were things she could deal with, things that would happen eventually in most cases. They would help the child cope, teach her how to not let it happen again, support her inside the Okiya and nurture her back. Kagami had done it for many girls before, she would probably do it for many more.

She had expected not this.

"What happened?" she asks sharply, catching the young girl's eyes.

"There was a man." The girl pauses, hesitant. "I… I told him I was not for sale. He did not listen. He is dead," Ryuishi replied back, eyes holding hers, looking for something. For what, Madam Kagami did not know.

She did know the girl was covered in blood and chunks of gore, the likes of which many in the brothel had not seen since their times on the streets. Her hair was wild and her eyes were flinty and cold. Kagami knew that look, she had been a kunoichi once, long ago. The juxtaposition of a regret-less killer's looks on the face of an infant was not one she was comfortable with, but she knew what her gut had been telling her now.

(She should have read the signs better.)

With a tired sigh, the girl's shoulder slumped and she rubbed her eyes with a dirty hand. She must have found what she was looking for. Kagami still did not know what it was.

"I didn't wanna, Okaa-sama. He wouldn't let me go and… and it just happened. I don't even feel bad, I just want a hot bath and to go to sleep." She looks back up then, black eyes begging. "Please?"

Kagami nods and sends her on her way, letting Keiko comfort her while she went back to her office to send a letter to an old acquaintance.

(She should have read the signs better.)

_The girl was never meant to be an entertainer_, she thought to herself, pulling a book out of the hidden bottom of her drawer. A book she hadn't used since she had been forcibly retired from the kunoichi forces.

_No_, she thought, opening its pages and skimming through a list of old contacts. _There is only one path for her._

* * *

><p>Watanabe Ryuishi wakes up one morning, and when she looks around her room, she feels like smashing everything. The grey of the concrete is too bland, too toneless. The paper screen that divides the room into halves (One for her, one for her mother) is too delicate, too foreign. The futon she is lying in scratches against her skin and is too firm for comfort. The weather outside is not the hot, humid temperature of her home. The watery sukiyaki she had last night was not her mother's lemper or her father's smoked brisket. The prostitute on the other side of the screen is not her parent.<p>

Her world is one of savage cunning and advanced tech, not of totalitarian dictatorships and superpowered murderers. Her name isn't even Ryuishi, for Christ's sake. She doesn't belong, and she doesn't mean that like an angsty teen. She means it in the way that she is dead, like, super dead. She remembers the foggy nothingness, the eternal Void. She remembers falling forever in the space between stars. She means that she does not belong here because she is not supposed to be alive, she is an unnatural occurrence.

She is an abomination.

(A month ago she killed a man. She ripped out his throat with her teeth. She doesn't regret it.)

She is physically five years old, and she is losing her mind. She feels it in her heart, right down to her soul.

When she shuffles silently out of her bed and stands, she stares at her tiny feet for several drawn out minutes, and something nameless and raw stirs in her gut. She cannot name it, but it feels familiar to her. Her mind is blank, but she knows the sensation well, the feel of several forces warring inside of her, churning inside her, those nameless facets of her personality.

(In another world—_her world, hers—_she hears whispers of symptoms behind closed doors. She hears them spoken in offices painted in carefully neutral earth tones filled with overstuffed chairs and saccharine smiles.)

The little girl steps forward, still staring at her impossibly small feet, shifting closer to the small chest in the corner of her room. She ignores the lip stains and kohl liners and digs around for a set of clean clothes to wear after her morning bath before a pair of onyx eyes catch hers.

She sees her reflection in one of the mirrors leaning against the wall. The wavy black hair that falls between her shoulders and the chubby, childish cheeks and she wants to laugh and laugh until she is crying, because that is not her, that is not her body. These tiny, pudgy hands are not hers, and neither is the worn robe she is clasping. The eyes are too sharp, too dark. The flesh is too soft, too unblemished. That girl in the mirror is not her.

(_Thatsnotherthatsnotherthatsnother—_)

Her breathing quickens, and this time, she is laughing. A hysterical, choking, hacking sound. She is laughing so hard tears condense in the corners of her eyes and fall down her face. There is snot flooding her nostrils and she feels uncomfortably warm. Her heart stutters painfully inside her chest and she knows, she fucking knows what is coming. She's laughing so loud it hurts her throat. She feels something in her neck stretch to the point of painful.

(A month ago she killed a man. She ripped out his throat with her teeth. She doesn't regret it. She would do it again.)

She hears Keiko on the other side of the room startling awake over her laughter. She hears her fake mother's feet on the ground and a scream for help, before she feels arms around the body that is not hers, a body that hasn't been hers for years and years and years.

What has she been thinking? Has she forgotten who she was, what she was?

She wasn't some little fucking Mist brat, some child soldier. She was a grown woman with nigh on two decades of education under her belt, at least five years of work experience and knowledge. She was a responsibility dodging, lazy, apathetic, grade-A douche. She wasn't cunning or smart. She couldn't save a fake world, she wasn't even stable enough to save herself. What kind of sick fever dream has she been loping through? Naruto is just a book, it's just a show. It's a story, just a fucking story. She's crazy, and she knows it.

She knew it back then, too. It had only taken five years for her to remember.

Five years to remember that she had a family, a loving, caring, fucked up family. That she had cousins with artistic skills that blew her away, whose cooking talent could put chefs across the globe to shame. She remembers that she has parents, real parents, not just a pseudo older sibling figure like Keiko. She had a mom with intensely short black hair (her hair) and dark almond eyes (her eyes). A mom who liked insanely graphic medical documentaries and could arrange flowers into breathtaking works of art. A dad who was a giant of a man who could turn scrap wood into furniture that would last years, who could argue all day long, and who taught every one of his children how to survive by tooth and wit and claw. She remembers a best friend, a completion to her soul, her platonic other half. She remembers a pile of brothers, all laughing and smirking and wrestling. She remembers a baby sister.

Her laughter turns into screaming.

She screams and screams and screams, just to get it out, the awful things inside of her. The tangible heartache that rips across her chest. She screams until it sounds more like a howl, until that howl turns into the warbling screech of a demon. She screams until the stretching feeling in the back of her throat turns into a shredding one, and she can taste blood on the back of her tongue.

She can't fucking _breathe, _it hurts so bad. She has broken bones and they have hurt less. There are fat, ugly drops of salty water running down her face, and her nose is filled and dripping. There is a tearing inside of her, next to the fluttering staccato beat of her heart.

_Her baby, her baby girl. Her anchor, her everything. Her little baby sister._

She cries out until she can't hear her own voice, until she can't feel the arms around the body that is not hers. She weeps and she wails until the dysphoria fills her, and the tiny, chubby hands in front of her face don't matter any more, because everything is so very far away. It's not real, not real at all.

(She's still screaming.)

She will fully admit that she kinda lost her shit at that point. It wasn't pretty, or nice, or fun, or dramatic. It was awful. The world took on an almost forgotten, dreamlike quality, and the sense of out of body, loose floating spirit sensation smothered her senses. It felt like lying beneath the surface of a lake. She could see things, and she could hear them, but those things were distant. She could move and react, but it was more like moving a puppet than actually living.

Ryuishi was… submerged.

It hurt her so much to face the world right now, hurt her deep inside her soul, a solid ache inside the substance that was her. She didn't want to act, to be, so she swam inside herself and forced something else to take her place. She really didn't care what came up or how bad she acted at the time, she only knew that she couldn't deal with it right now. She wanted to sleep for eternity, to nurse the ache, to clean the wound inside the quiet of her mind. So she swam to the deepest, most hidden part of herself and wrapped herself inside the muted haze of not-reality, trusting that one of _them_ would take her place.

They did not fail.

She knows, detachedly, that the whole Okiya seemed to wake at her screams. She feels it from somewhere far away, a set of arms unwinding from around her, being dragged away, and the soreness of her own bleeding throat.

For a while, she stops caring.

The feeling doesn't go away for a while. Days, in fact. When she comes back to herself, the hurt isn't gone and she knows in her heart that this isn't going to be her last episode. She can read these signs, and she is intimately familiar with the symptoms. What she gains from the whole thing is the exhausted realization that the ache will never go away.

Well, that and permanent damage to her vocal chords that will forever make her voice sound oddly husky, which might become attractive later in life, but sounds God fucking awful on a child. Wonderful.

She understands that she has done something horrible, something terrible to see. She has taken a life, but that it is okay. It is okay not to regret that pitiful creature's passing. She understands she is far away from where she was and that things are different here, that morals won't remain the same. She accepts that part of her relished in that creature's destruction. That it is okay, that she can use that part of her in a world like this.

Ryuishi (and Cat, and the others inside her soul) will just have to cope with it, learn to live with it. Just like they did in the last life.


	6. Meeting an Odd Child

I do not own Naruto.

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><p>Kisame Hoshigaki is severely disgruntled when he learns that there will be no training today. He is even more upset when he learns his shishou is blowing off training for a visit to a brothel. He is completely annoyed when he is told that he is to be joining his teacher's visit.<p>

He is wholly and totally pissed when, after all of this nonsense, he is stuck in a room and told to wait.

So when the knock comes and a husky voice politely inquires if a cup of tea would please him and he affirms, he is not exactly in the mood to see a well dressed brat step through, see his appearance, and freeze.

He scowls at the girl. Of course the little thing would be scared of his looks, his strangely colored skin and blade like teeth. This is exactly what I need, he thinks sarcastically, a little whore's daughter to step in and act all horrified, maybe call for help because a demon got into their shitty brothel. This soft looking little girl wouldn't last a second on the streets or in the field, with her silky looking hair and clean civilian hands that have calluses and ...scars... on the... knuckles…

Kisame looks up, meets coal black eyes, and is instantly perplexed.

"My fucking God, you're beautiful," the brat's husky voice breathes out.

Suddenly there is a rush of movement and the tea is on the table and a brat's fearless hands in his face. He makes a startled choking noise, thrown off by the words, and then the girl, who can't be older than six, is in his personal space. Her chubby hands are running over his cheekbones, the ends of her fingers rubbing his skin. They stay there for only a few seconds before they are moving up into his hair, and she makes the strangest cooing noise when she touches it, digging her small hands into the blue locks gently and making odd sounds between her sudden blabbering.

"Oh my God, oh my fucking God! Look at you!" A cheery squeak," You're all… young and stuff! And here I am, with the great honor of touching the Hoshigaki Kisame! I would fucking cream my jeans if my body had any hormones." She laughs at her own words and continues, "Sweet bundles of baby kittens, you are precious. What are you, twelve? Thirteen? And already tall as a fucking oak tree, hah! You gotta be shittin' me! How—Atckhh!" and finally she makes a gurgling, choking noise.

A hand is wrapped around the back of the girl's kimono, tugging her away, and he can breathe again. Kisame is appalled by the woman's silent and abrupt entry; so quiet even he could not hear it. This newcomer was no simple whore. He looks up and catches the eye of another woman with salt and pepper hair pulled tight into the style of a geisha, her painted crimson mouth turned into a polite smile and her hazel eyes sparkling. It is her aged hand that is wrapped tightly around the child's clothes, and the little girl suddenly looks very, very nervous.

"Okaa-sama,no, I just was greeting this young gentleman—" the sweating child tries to explain, eyes darting frantically to him, their dark depths practically begging for help.

He's too shocked to do anything right now, not that he would anyway.

"One moment please, young sir," the elderly matron says in a sweet, venomous voice, dragging the brat away. The brat who was valiantly attempting to wriggle out of her own clothing to get away. The two disappear out the door, which is slid shut behind them, and Kisame is left alone to stare at his cup of steaming tea in pure bewilderment.

Then, from behind his screen, he can hear them again. This whole thing seems to have turned into some strange kabuki theater. He expected an uncomfortable visit, maybe having to receive 'The Talk' from shishou. Probably a version with far too many sword euphemisms. Perhaps he was going to sit here until his teacher... finished, and then they would train. In one horrible scenario, his teacher might have forced him into a room with one of the girls. He did not expect 'inadvertently listening in on a brat's punishment' to be on the schedule.

"No Okaa-sama! Have mercy, mercy!" the child's voice cries out, and it is followed with the sound of something solid hitting soft flesh several time in rapid succession, followed by a keening wail.

Kisame winces and shifts in his seated place in sympathy. He knows the sound of a good swatting when he hears it. Maybe the little whore's daughter could survive a day or two on the streets…

Suddenly the door slides open again, and there the matron is with her arms crossed, standing tall and imposing behind the kneeling figure of the kid. In a single smooth motion the child is bowing, her voice smooth and clear when he knows for a fact that she had gotten some not-so-nice corporal punishment not seconds before.

"Please forgive me, sir. I was shown the error of my ways. I endeavor to better entertain you in the future," she intones apologetically.

Satisfied, the matron nods and goes to leave, but not before sending steely eyes towards the—probably—faux repentant child.

The door slides closed and the kid zips back up, sending a disgusted look at the closed screen, her nose wrinkled and eyes narrowed.

"Fuckin' bitch." she spits venomously, ignoring him.

Kisame can't take this anymore.

"What?"

"What do mean what?" she replies haughtily, turning to face him.

Kisame's eyes flash, and he locks eyes with the brat again. He is flustered and off balance, and he knows that can lead to nothing good.

"I mean," he grits out between clenched teeth, "What the hell just happened? Why did any of that happen? Why did you touch me? Who the hell are you?"

The girl's gaze is surprisingly cool for a moment, and it reminds him of the looks he sees older jounin give the fresh genin. It is bored, detached, and dismissive. It is infuriating.

"I'm a liar. But most people just call me Ryuishi." she says.

He is momentarily taken aback by the bluntness of her words, then notices that she answered exactly none of his questions, and finally wonders the truth of the statement. Can a liar be a liar if the very first thing they tell you about themselves is that single fact? It does explain all the compliments before, but it is no skin off his back if that is the case. In fact, it seems the whole episode cost her skin off of hers. Either way, it does not explain the lack of fear, the insistent touches.

"So the whole thing was a show for the old lady?" He guesses, confused.

She snorts and scoots closer, away from the door, nearer to him. He is still confused.

"No, not really. I guess I was just really excited to see you, especially since you're… well, just look at you. So cute and young and adorable."

"I'm older than you. And you just admitted to being a liar," he grouses, eyeing her warily, "I hate liars."

The girl shrugs and makes an unconcerned face. "Even liars can't lie all the time. That would be exhausting. You just have to figure out when they're telling the truth and when they're not." She holds up a finger for a moment, and then points it at him. "Hint: this time, I was not."

She pauses for a moment, before a fox's smile stretches across her face.

"Lying, that is. I wasn't lying."

He doubts that. It does not seem to matter though, so he picks up his tea and give it a sniff, unable to detect anything poisonous about it. It smells simply of strong oolong, nothing more. He would have preferred some sugar in it, but he will deal with what he was given. Kisame decides to ignore her, and just drinks his tea. He takes a sip—

"Can I play with your hair?"

—and promptly chokes on it, coughing and sputtering liquid all over the table. Still hacking, he viciously wipes away the liquid around his mouth and swivels around to look at the kid. She is sitting still, watching him calmly, a tiny smile curling the side of her lips upward. She is every image of a miniature hostess. He glares at her.

"You did that on purpose, you brat!"

"Yes. But I also want to play with your hair. I am an innocent, adorable, naive six year old. I have found interest in your wild blue locks, and desire to delight myself by playing with your fucking hair. Will you indulge the cutesy whims of a child?"

"Adorable? Now I know you're a liar," he scoffs out.

"Okay, maybe not adorable. I still wanna play with your hair though."

Kisame groans dramatically and goes to stare mournfully into his cup of tea, trying to find answers in the opaque green liquid. Why did his shishou bring him here? Why is this brat so annoying? What does she want with him? Why is she sitting so close?

"Look," he begins forcefully. "I know you don't want to do that. I get that you have to put on a good show for the matron, but no you can't touch my hair. I bet you don't even want to touch it, anyways. So you can go back to whatever whore's kids do, and tell your boss that the scary shark kid sent you away—"

There's a tiny hand in his mouth.

It tastes like salt and bitter herbs.

His expression must be a thing of beauty, because her look is triumphant, her smile smug and victorious.

"Ok, first things first kecil hiu roh, you have some options here. " Her fingers wriggle a little across his tongue, but he is too astounded to do little more than gag. "You can choose to see my hand in your mouth as an attack and treat it as such. You can chomp my hand off with those crazy fucking teeth of yours and I can live my entire shitty life without the use of this limb. You won't get in trouble, because you're a genin, a valuable asset to the village, while I am nothing more than an akasenko, a whore's kid, a civilian. You can be just like any other low level shinobi."

She pauses there and looks him in the eyes, the smile slipping off her face. There is saliva dripping down her wrist. Her eyes are sharp for a kid, they are bright and much too observant.

"Or, you can believe that I chose not to attack you. You can choose to believe that I stuck my hand in the mouth of a 'scary shark kid', the most dangerous looking physical feature you have, to show him that his skin color, his eyes, his knife like teeth mean nothing to me. You can choose to believe that I am giving a complete stranger the ability to take this hand away from me forever, with no cost to them, to prove I can think for my god damned self."

The brat is as unrelenting as the oncoming tide, her arm extended fully, her weak little wrist placed placidly between his jagged teeth. Already he can taste blood from the scrapes she got while jamming her hands inside. Her eyes are meeting his unflinchingly, and he narrows his own, momentarily stiffening his jaw and increasing the pressure on her wrist. Her own jaw clenches in preparation for the pain, her nostrils flaring, but she does not flail and try to scramble away.

She is standing beside this gamble, ready to pay the toll if her guess is wrong.

There is a long moment, and he opens his mouth and pushes her spit-covered hand out of his mouth with his tongue, watching it fall to her lap.

He immediately goes for his tea, swishing it around his mouth vigorously. She laughs.

"Aw, c'mon, that's hurtful. I don't have that many germs," she chuckles out, discreetly wiping her hand on the bottom of her robes, lightly dabbing at the thin lines of red.

He looks at her again, seeing her in a new light.

"You have got to be the weirdest, stupidest brat I have ever met. Who does that, who is that stupid? I could have just pushed you back and then walked away, what then? What if I really did just bite your hand off?" He exclaims after swallowing his fourth mouthful, turning on her with a judgmental expression.

"Well, I would have gotten my fucking answer. Now I get to play with your hair," she remarks, smile back on her face, hand reaching forward. He snorts and bats it out of the air with ease. He won't be caught off guard again, not by this little brat.

"No you do not! I never said that."

She drops her hand with a forlorn sigh, looking up at him through squinted coal orbs. Kisame pins them against his own from the corner of his eyes.

"You're really bustin' my balls here, kid."

"You have a foul mouth for a six year old girl." He pauses. "And I'm older than you."

It is her turn to snort. "I live in a brothel, not a monastery. Forgive me if hookers are a terrible influence."

Kisame, very skillfully, does not choke again. He supposes he will have to get used to things like this if he takes an interest in this brat. And isn't that strange, him taking a liking to her odd ways. Well, more liked a forced acceptance, really. She didn't give him much choice. He decides the best way to deal with this is to ignore her.

"So, what? I play super duper cute baby hostess while yah drink yah shitty tea? Is that's how it's gonna be?" she queries, voice lilting like a cheap thug's.

He enjoys the delicate balance of bitter and smoky on his tongue for a moment, seemingly deep in thought. His small orbs trace the patterns of light that escape through the thin screen, watching dust motes dance in the air. The air is calm and smells like the garden in the square outside. This is a nice brothel, he muses, much better than many in the district. It must cost at least a B-rank for a night, at least. Somehow, the stink of the city is gone and the building fosters an aura of tranquility and peace.

"Oi! You better not be ignoring me!" She hisses, leaning closer, "I ain't gonna play games with a fucking tween who can't even pop a boner. Listen here, slick—"

The wood paneling is a nice touch, he thinks. It's a nice break from the concrete that is so common in Kiri. He takes another sip of his tea, it really is quite good. The ambiance of the place must be nice at night, and he imagines that the red lights of the district must settle quite nicely over the soft, warm tones they used to color the establishment.

"—that's it, I take it back. I don't wanna play with your hair. It's not nice at all, doesn't look soft or fluffy or nothin'. I lied like a lying liar. Yah wanna fuckin fight? 'Cause, genin or not-"

"Oh? Did I hear that right, little girl?"

The two jump at the voice, and Kisame whips his head around to face the gargantuan man standing in the doorway behind them. His form is enormous, and can barely fit through the doorway. Coupled with the giant sword on his back, he cuts an imposing figure.

"Shishou," Kisame greets.

There is a sharp inhale from the girl beside him, and she makes a swift movement away so that there is a respectable distance between the two. Her jaw clenches tight, but there is suddenly a submissive, welcoming smile on her face as she looks at his teacher.

"It is my pleasure to make you acquaintance, sir," she murmurs softly, a complete one-eighty from her previous nattering, husky tone.

His teacher scoffs and scowls down at the girl, his eyes darting to her hands, taking in the hardened skin there, and the blood on her wrist. He notes that she respectfully does not meet his gaze, and instead bows her head to face the ground.

"Did I or did I not just hear you challenge my student?" He grunts out, letting the girl feel the full weight of his gaze. "Lie and I will end you right here, girl."

"I am flattered that you would waste so much effort on a flea like me, sir—" she defers softly, her body language lax.

"—Don't attempt to flatter your way out, or direct my attention elsewhere again. Answer the question," he orders.

Kisame is quiet and accepting, but he does not understand why his teacher is so upset about the girl. She is just a kid, and kids talk crap all the time. It was one thing if a fellow genin, or even if a chunin disregarded him and threatened him. Those would be a slight not only to his own skill, but his shishou's ability as a teacher. But coming from a civilian? That was no threat to a swordsman's honor. So why was he acting this way?

The girl breathes out a soft sigh, and looks up, finally showing her face to his teacher.

"Yes, sir. I did challenge your student to a spar," she admits, her tone remorseful.

Her examines her closely, then looks to his student speculatively. His student suddenly feels a little nervous, and shifts in his place, relieving some of the pressure on his legs. He waits in the awkward silence patiently.

"He accepts. Now, in the outer courtyard."

Kisame is aghast. Him against a civilian? It's going to be a slaughter! If he wins, he's a bully, if he refuses, he forfeits and becomes a laughingstock. This whole thing has to be a joke! His mouth is suddenly dry despite the tea.

He does not want to be either of those things.

"Kagami Okaa-sama would be—" she begins, apparently smart enough to realize what a death trap this is.

"Kagami has already entered negotiations with me on the subject of your Mizuage."

The girl chokes on her spit, whipping her head up to look his teacher in the face, throwing away any feigned respect. Her eyes dart around his solid form, desperately searching for any hint of a lie. She is frantic in her observation, trying to snuff out any signal or sign of untruth. When she finds none, her small face is instantly filled with fury. Her hands tighten into fists and tremble at her side. Her tan skin is flushed red, and her jaw is clenched so tight he can hear her teeth creaking. She is openly glaring at the behemoth shinobi, her nostrils flaring and eyes filled with anger.

"You will spar with my student in the outer courtyard, or I will offer her something she cannot refuse." He commands her, his eyes dangerous.

The girl leaps to her feet, hands fisted by her side, and meets his eyes hatefully. She holds them for a long moment before stomping away towards the designated arena.

"Shishou, she's just—" Kisame begins.

His teacher turns on him, his gaze calm and maybe a little bloodthirsty. His grin reveals rows of sharp, pointed teeth and an unbearable smugness.

"Kisame, listen close." he says in a lecturing tone, "That brat's Okiya Mother called me in to pay for an old favor. She says the girl is loud, blunt and too cunning for her own good. I thought she was lying. But you know what changed my mind?" he questions.

Kisame gulps. The man's tone does not bode well. "No sir," he answers.

"About the same time Kagami-san called, I got word from the owner of Kubikiribocho. His student, who is still in the academy, told him about somebody, who fits the girls description, brutally and efficiently take down a hostile by tearing their throat out with her teeth. While being caught in a hold. Apparently everybody is confused as to why such a good prospect is not in the Academy, especially on with tensions running so high." his sensei tells him.

Kisame almost couldn't believe it. The girl was six! But…

But the girl's eyes were too observant, and she was completely unafraid to touch him, to engage in conversation with someone who looked like he did. She was quick enough to touch him before he could stop her when she first came in. She was apathetic enough to stick her hand in his mouth, and to not care about the pain of the cuts later.

Usually they chose Academy candidates by picking up the tougher ringleaders of the orphans, and then mixing them with the clan kids. It's how Kisame himself was chosen. Almost all of the children had a body count before they even began, directly or indirectly.

He supposed this girl was no different.

"I understand, Shishou," he grunts out, crossing his arms.

Then he trails out behind his teacher to fight a six-year-old.

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><p><strong>AN: Kecil hiu roh (Little shark spirit), in Indonesian. Vague, but there. Also, cannon characters! Yay! Double also, hints that Ryuishi took her pledge to train a bit seriously. But, don't expect it to show much from the next chapter. It's only been about a year, with no teacher or asistance in form.<strong>

**As for the orphan thing, it seems to me every kiri nin shown is some kind of crazy orphan. Like, the entire village might be filled with orphans. I think that kids might have run of low things on the streets, under the supervision of older, more experienced people, much how gangs work in third world countries. It would make sense that the academy, who canonically supports bloodsport and encourages violence, would get to pick the cream of the crop.**

**I would also like to thank my beautiful new soundboard, the Hate Child! Bless their wonderful soul.**


	7. Meeting the Contents of your Stomach

I do not own naruto.

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><p>"Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck fuck," Ryuishi hisses under her breath, tromping her way to the outer courtyard. "Twelve fucking cocks in a bucket full of butts."<p>

Watanabe Ryuishi is six years old, and today she is going to die.

Well, maybe not really, but there is a good chance of it. She really shouldn't have been so feisty around one of the Seven Swordsmen's apprentices, but goddamn, she never imagined it would end like this. Maybe Kisame would have thought she was too blunt. Maybe he would have been a giant douchebag. Perhaps, the two would have personalities that couldn't mesh. But no, after some struggle, the very first canon character she meets gets along fine with her! (By some very loose standards of course.)

They bickered, she laughed, he even spat tea! It had been the beginning of a beautiful friendship. Then, wonder of all wonders, she fucks up.

Again, she didn't think things through. She didn't consider the words coming out of her mouth, how offensive they could seem. She didn't pay attention to her surroundings, and then went and blabbed a challenge to a boy who had to be at least six fucking years older, right on the verge of puberty, with enough training to kick her ass ten ways to tuesday.

This isn't going to be a spar, or even a duel. It's going to be a slaughter.

Ryuishi wasn't lying when she said that Kisame could kill her and get away with it. Mist had a shit view on civilians. The whole of ninja society did, incidentally. Shinobi, from what she had seen, seemed to have no care for their non-military counterparts. In the show and the manga, the only reason a civilian would appear would be to hire a team for a mission, or to make the ninja look better in comparison. Sometimes, like in the cases of Teuchi and Ayame, who owned the infamous Ichiraku ramen stand, it showed them performing their duty, which was serving their Shinobi overlords. It was a subtle but insidious thing in what she remembers. Genin teams would help out with common, everyday chores performed by civilians, all the while nattering about how boring and lame they were.

The comments, while funny at the time, exposed a darker side to the Elemental Nations. Ninja did not care about the lives of civilians. This was doubly obvious in Kirigakure. Shinobi laughed when they recounted tales of assaulting business owners and day labourers. Those returning from outside the village enthusiastically recounted tales of battle against dangerous opponents, ignoring how a single jutsu would ruin the farmland around them, tearing up crops and ruining soil, thus destroying the lives of farmers. Trade caravans were regularly assaulted, and no one could connect the dots to the loss of trade, it seemed.

Ninja could not support a farm, and they could not continue in most trades. Few owned businesses, and fewer had marketable skills outside mercenary work. This, alongside their ignorant behavior, left the everyday people indignant and angry, and they far outnumbered their ninja brethren. It seemed that the entire system was a powder keg, waiting for a single spark to burst into civil war. The daimyo did nothing to control his military dogs, and rarely outstretched a helping hand to his people. The whole situation was begging to be taken advantage of.

Ryuishi mourns the fact that she will be too dead to do anything after today. Then she snorts. She'll be double dead. Death twice over. Hah.

Then she thinks of the empty void, the haunting, endless abyss, and quickly turns her thoughts away from that direction.

She supposes that the meeting she had last month with Hanako and the other orphans will be her last. She wishes the blond haired girl luck with her growing gang. Maybe she has time time to write her a letter? No, Hanako can barely read. It seemed a silly thing to teach the group she had met that day, and all their subsequent meetings had been filled with new faces and more lessons about survival and how to stay unnoticed. Man, she really should have taught them to read. What kind of monster was she, leaving starving orphans on the streets, never showing them the wonders of literacy...

Argh! Enough! She has to get her mind in the fight! Even if she's (definitely, for sure) going down, she won't do it quietly!

After all, that goddamn, motherfucking, piece of trash teacher of Kisame's threatened her with something worse than death.

She lets the outrage at the man's brashness fill her. He had been dealing with Kagami Okaa-sama, negotiating for her Mizuage. The thought of it floods her little body with fear and hate, which she carefully fans until the gale inside her heart turns manageable. She will use it in the upcoming fight. Maybe it will make the punches hurt less. She hopes so.

She broods about it as she stalks the halls. The brothel emulated the geisha culture in many ways, only, yah know, seedier and more prostitute oriented. Right now she would be considered a maiko, an apprentice, to young to deal with adult dealing. It should have stayed that way for a long, long while. Yet, Kagami Okaa-sama was negotiating her Mizuage. The Mizuage was a ceremony for initiation into the working girls ranks. Here, in a brothel, it meant that the Matron was considering selling her virginity already. Kagami was trying to whore her out, that bitch! It should have never come up so soon, and it led her to believe that the giant man was not only using his political clout, but offering obscene amounts of money. Or so she assumed.

So, weaponless, angry, and dressed in a beautiful kimono, Ryuishi steps out into the outer gardens. (She will relish ruining the fine piece of clothing. It's the least she can do to Kagami for being an underhanded, traitorous hag.)

The outer gardens are actually a polite euphemism for the muddy, run down, half acre plot of land behind the Okiya. The ground is mushy and unsteady, and there is little plant life. The area is commonly used for the back door dealings of the brothel and a place to sneak out for the girls. It is also where the food, cosmetics, and other supplies are delivered, so that the unwashed workers from the trade district do not have to be seen in front of the business. It smells like a scum, and she can feel her geta slip into it. Smiling, she slips them off and lets the slime squish between her toes, happily examining the bottom of her robes trail in the filth. This single action serves the dual purpose of giving her more traction and getting her clothes dirty. Content in costing the brothel owner money she stalks towards the side of the plot, the hair dangling from high ponytail swishing with her steps.

She notes to keep the environment in mind during the fight, and subtly begins to stretch. Behind her she can hear the footsteps of the other two, and thinks that it is kind of them to let her hear their approach. As shinobi they could just as easily appear out of nowhere, or silently slip up directly behind her. Like that bastard teacher had done when he had entered the room.

With little direction, Kisame takes the side opposite of her. His shishou watches from the doorway.

Kisame looks fierce and determined, his bokken loose in his hands, but maybe that's just from her perspective as dead-girl-walking. She doesn't think her ego could take it if he looked anything but competent. It's already suffered serious blows today, and is probably gonna be crippled from the beating she is about to receive from a twelve year old. Her vanity is screaming at her from inside her head for getting their clothes dirty, and reminding her how ugly they look when they fight. She ignores them, and lets her mind focus on surviving for as long as possible.

Ryushi breathe in, holds it, lets her _angerfustrationfear_ fill her, and lets the breath flood out.

"You may begin," the giant man says.

She drops down into the mud and rolls forward, underneath the strike that sends a small splash of swampy earth raining down. Kisame is fast, faster than she has any hope of being, but she rolls underneath his first strike, coating herself and her pretty robes in filth. She can see his foot raise up, ready to stomp down on her, and she rolls underneath that too.

His foot crashes down behind her with an insane amount of force, sending a out a small wave of filth. It upsets his balance on the slick terrain and he stumbles a bit before regaining it.

Ryuishi uses that time to scramble up, keeping her center of gravity low and her weight shifting between her feet, her toes digging into the slime. It's a bastardization of a horse stance, but it keeps her grounding firm.

Kisame is quick to spin around, using the moment of his turn to add more force behind his upward slash. She leans away, letting one palm grip the muck behind her, another held firm in front of her face. Her robes pull her down and restrict her movements, and she almost, almost regrets her bokken sweeps upward and only misses her nose by a centimeter, sending her bangs flying.

_(Not the face, not the face! It's so cute, don't ruin that!_)

His arms are up and she shifts her weight, leaving it all on one foot while the other leg arcs up, aiming for his ribs, the force of a full body twist behind it. He deftly grabs it, removing a hand from his training sword, halting the blow. She keeps moving through the twist, letting her other leg leave the earth, and sends a palm full of mud at his face right before he flings her to the side.

She slams down hard and her whole body rolls through the muck. She is covered in it now, and the outer robe will probably forever smell like a quagmire.

She scrambles up again, ignoring the screaming in the ankle he caught and used to throw her. Ryuishi lets herself slide into the bastard horse stance again, mentally thanking her old father for being such a paranoid bastard. Yet, if she wants to live a little longer, she knows she'll have to get in close again, close enough that his stick won't be able to strike her.

Kisame is wiping mud of his face, bokken at his side, looking so absolutely done with everything it startles a laugh out of her. His beady eyes lock onto her and he scowls, displaying his vicious teeth.

Then he is in front of her, and his bokken is lodging itself in her gut lengthwise, driving the air from her lungs and her stomach into her trachea. It is hard enough to bend her body around it, but her stance is firm enough that she doesn't go flying, only slides back.

(Kisame regrets doing this because it sends the mud from her robes flying off of her, and onto him.)

Still bent over his sword, her arms up and guarding, Ryuishi loses her lunch. Kisame makes a disgusted sound and backs away, and she turns her head, instinctively trying to keep an eye on the opponent when another wave climbs its way up her throat and fountains out of her lips, right onto his pants.

"Aaaargh!" the blue boy bellows in repulsion, hands outstretched to his sides, glaring at the

half digested remains of rice and salted salmon dripping down his pants.

Panicked, in pain and seeing an opportunity, Ryuishi lunges, tackling his legs, and smashing her face into her own up chuck. He topples and lands with a splat into the mud. He immediately retaliates and she can feel one, two, three solid strikes to her skull before she's knocked out.

* * *

><p>Fuguki Suikazan, jonin of Kirigakure, member or the renowned seven swordmen, current wielder of Samehada, has never laughed so hard in his entire life.<p>

His student is currently shoving an unconscious six year old off his lap and scrambling away from the prone girls form. His back is covered with mud, and his front is covered with projectile vomit.

Seeing the boy's shattered expression as he looks down at himself makes him laugh even harder. His bellowing reverberates in the mist laden air, and there are actual tears gathering in the corner of his eyes. He hopes to never, ever forget his student's priceless expression in this moment, and he knows that he will never have to warn the boy of the dangers of striking an opponent in the gut again after this.

He is leaning against the doorframe for support and his protruding gut is hurting as bad as it does after a hard workout, but he can't seem to stop the shaking. Behind him he can hear Kagami-san and another woman slide around the corner, eager to learn the results of this particular test.

He looks up and gestures to the plot of land wordlessly, still laughing. The woman, who must surely be the girls mother, looks startled and wide-eyed at the state of her daughter, but is well educated enough to hide her distress in front of a shinobi. Kagami just eyes him with a curious, if calculating, gaze.

"Well?" the weathered matron asks, taking in the scene, a single thin eyebrow raised high on her brow.

Fuguki reigns in his chuckles, standing tall once more, carefully keeping his eyes off his student—lest he burst into laughter once more. "She certainly is Academy material. I will stand as her sponsor," he intones with a grin.

The Okiya mother smirks victoriously, and even the mother looks relieved. It doesn't surprise him. If the girl hadn't shown her ability her today, she would most likely would have started training as a brothel runner, and then an initiate. As it is, the child has shown enough promise to enter training. The Zabuza brat will be elated.

The test had begun long before the spar, of course. They had been under observation since the moment she had stepped inside the room with his student. When faced with a customer so obviously bearing the Kiri hitai-ate the child had immediately gone to ingratiate herself with the target, pushing him in different ways to get a read on his personality. It had started with the immediate invasion of personal space, and then continued with blunt honesty and perseverance for the sake of the goal. The brat had even managed to worm her way into shocking his student, fearlessly offering a limb to prove herself. The whole time the girl had kept in control of the conversation, seamlessly moving from an over enthusiastic persona who used her age as a shield from more serious repercussions, to a sarcastic one that belied her wit, to bold one that showcased situational cunning , and finally ending in aggression. He severely doubts she even knew what she was doing at the time, or that she did any of it at all, but each trait was something every Academy candidate has to have in some form or another.

Her physical display was not disappointing either. The girl did not run away from the fight, facing the consequences of her brash words, most likely only because of his earlier insinuations. She did not immediately attack, or attempt to strong arm her way through. Fuguki is certain she knew she could not win from the beginning. She did not land a single blow, but she did display a good amount of flexibility and a creative use of the environment around her. The fact that she was ready to strike at any opening presented, even if it meant a face full of her own sick, speaks well of her future ruthlessness.

"I will begin her papers immediately. Keiko, gather your child, and send one of the other girls down with a change of clothes and some food for the young master. Perhaps even a bath."

The young mother accepts her orders graciously, bowing respectfully to the both of them before rushing to the mud covered form of her offspring.

"Will you accompany me to my office for some celebratory sake, Suikazan-sama?" the smug Matron asks, her lips quirked upward in a tight smile that makes her seems years younger. For a second, Fuguki sees a flash of the woman from twenty years ago, dressed in the form fitting gear and giving that same smile, her hair trailing behind her. He grins wider, and motions for her to go forward.

"Only if you don't mind reminiscing as you finish up that paperwork, Kagami-san."

She only raises her brow once more,smile still on her face, and nods in acquiescence, beginning to walk away. He looks back to his dejected student, waving his arm to catch his attention. The boy looks up, scowl across his face.

"Good work boy. Let the girls take care of you, and we'll leave in a little while."

Then he is stalking after the matron, licking his lips at the thought of sake and nostalgia.

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><p><strong>AN: Sorry for the late update! The site had some repairs to do. And if you think the fight is short, please remember at this point in time Kisame is a genin, and so far Ryuishi has only been training by herself. The ass whooping was inevitable. <strong>


	8. Interlude: Hanako and Zabuza

I do not own Naruto. Slight gore trigger

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><p>Hanako is a child with no last name.<p>

There are many of them in Kirigakure, running around on the streets, scared and alone. The orphanages will not take them in, because they are reserved for the children of war and business, taking in only the descendants of those who died in battle or those who were born from a higher children of whores and day laborers are not given such consideration.

Or, they weren't.

Everything changed two years ago, when a nameless girl appeared, as if born from the mist itself, and began to teach them. Hanako has learned much from that little girl, and is in fact still learning. She first showed them how to harvest eels from the water, and then crayfish, and then roots and tubers and herbs. She taught them how to weave beds from the river reeds and how to hide themselves from the adults. From her they learned how to keep moving, to keep their groups small, no larger than three at a time, how to scatter their ashes and hide their dens. The little girl coached them on being hidden in plain sight, how to misdirect attention when somebody looked too hard. A civilian would look away if they scrunched their faces just so, as if about to burst into tears, and looked them in the eyes. A shinobi would look away if they showed fear and awe, and begged them for tidbits.

The girl taught them how to survive, how to be the living ghosts of the mists, hidden in plain sight. All she ever asked in return was that they show other children, and never, ever tell anybody about her.

(This is easy, because Hanako still does not know the girl's name, even after all this time.)

Sometimes, the delicate looking child would appear again, and the orphans' lessons would begin anew, as if they had never stopped. She would come, wreathed in mist, to one of the original three that she had found in the alley that day, and teach. Only, there were more children now who knew how to do these things, because Hanako did what she was asked, venturing onto other gangs' turf and teaching the gospel of the girl who came from nowhere.

_I can show you how to feed yourselves. How to stay alive._

_You deserve to live, just because you are._

Hanako… Hanako doesn't know what to think about the girl from nowhere. She is so unlike anyone she has ever met. No one she has ever met has done the things that the girl has. No one ever treated her with respect and kindness before that fateful day. No one had ever looked at her and said that what they saw pleased them. No one ever took time away from their lives to teach her things. Nobody ever saw Hanako, accepted her, and cared for her.

She knows that girl is not homeless like them. She knows she has a family. She knows that she eats well, and wears pretty clothes and she smells nice. The girl shared those things, gave them part of her world. She told them stories and cleaned their cuts. She gave them things, and gave them power to give to others. She shared her strength without a price. Hanako can see it in her eyes when she looks out on the faces of the children who are older than her, younger than her, dirtier and poorer than her. Hanako can see that the girl loves them, freely and without cost. It is her way, who she is.

Hanako loves her for it.

She loves the strange little girl with clean kimonos and death in her eyes, and because she loves her, she hates this village. She hates how the strangers pass her by and do not see her. She hates that no one tries to help them. She hates that the shinobi abuse them, that they kill them on the streets like animals. She hates the cruelty and the savageness of Mist. She hates them, because the little girl showed her what they could be. Hanako wants to show others this vision too.

Hanako is a smart girl, and though not particularly strong, she is quick and clever when it comes to people. She never teaches the gang that caters to the adults, or the factions from which the shinobi like to recruit. She steers clear of the little ones who are not old enough to keep a secret, and the older ones who are too used to the way things are. She is strict and discerning when choosing her students. She does not want to fail the one person who gave her a chance, the one who showed her that she could be more than a nameless, starving orphan. Everyone she teaches, she asks to teach others.

The practice spreads.

They mark themselves in different ways, ways that the adults brush off as grubby children's play. She hears whispers from the others she goes to visit: children in the market district are wearing feathers in their hair, and those down by the docks are stringing fishbones and shells into jewelry, just like the kids in the akasen wore burnished bottle caps and torn kimono strips on their person. They are tokens only shown to those who know what to look for, a secret shared by the nameless little ghosts.

The bones, feathers, shells, caps and metal strips all mean something though. They mean that they are a tribe.

Hanako knows what the girl meant now, when she said that no child would be alone anymore. They are bound together by their lessons, tied to each other at first by a simple act of kindness. The kids she teaches are always grateful for their first meal, and later the work they share making traps and erasing their steps strings them together even more. The more time the children share in their small groups, the more those strings weave together into an unbreakable chain that binds the nameless children into a family.

So when that mysterious girl steps out of the fog, Hanako is glad to see her. She is not glad for long though.

"I will not be able to come after today's lesson," the child says.

"They chose yah for the Academy, didn't they?" Hanako asks, worry filling her. You cannot get away once they have selected you, not unless you're already dead. She can see now why the girl is not wearing a kimono. The baggy black pants take on a sinister look, and the clean grey sleeveless turtleneck no longer looks so cozy. What will Hanako do then, once she is abandoned? Where will she turn now?

The girl looks up at her through thick black lashes, and reaches out to hold her hand. Somehow, the usually comforting gesture is lacking today. "Listen to me Hanako, this lesson is not one I can guide you through. After today, you have to forget you ever knew me. You have to let go, and trust in all the other children. Share skills between each other. Learn to grow from each other, not me," the child says softly, her voice barely carrying to her ears. She can feel the tiny hand squeeze hers, so cold and so small. "I won't forget you, but until I can visit without being noticed, I cannot come again. I won't risk bringing attention to what is happening."

Hanako can see it again, that look she glimpsed on the girls face the first night they met. That look, that _emptyemptyempty_, and knows better than to try and argue. So, in hushed voices, the two share a lesson.

She learns of kingdoms and governments, and something called unalienable rights. She hears of peoples voices shouting out against their rulers, and learns the basics of economy. She is taught to always be aware of ideas, and what people believe in, because ideas and beliefs are powerful things. She learns that it is ok to be afraid, to run, and to hide. That these things are healthy and sometimes anonymity is safety. She learns that one day, there will be a moment, and she will have to choose. She learns that the tribe is hers now, has always been hers, and she must lead them when that time comes.

"Listen to them, respect them, and they will do the same for you," the thing in a girl's body says.

Then, the girl squeezes her hand just once more and stands tall. The child is younger than her by several years, she thinks, but she has never seen something quite like her before, so she cannot be sure. She has a presence, something that is both hard to find and impossible to forget.

"Take care, Hanako," the girl whispers, right before she is swallowed by the mist and snow. Hanako promises then and there that nobody will ever learn of the girl from her.

Yet…

Yet she will not let her be forgotten.

Soon, a story spreads through the ranks of nameless children, from the trade district to the market, from the akasen to the slum quarters. Every kid who wears a feather in their hair or sports a herringbone necklace knows it.

"Look there," they whisper. "See that magpie on the vine? See that spider in its web? Those are its eyes, which watch over us."

With little hands, they will point. "Do you see that cat near the trash? Can you spot the fox in the reeds? Those are its ears, that hear us."

Small faces will lean in close, eager to talk. "Can hear the dog howling? Do you hear the sparrows chirp? Those are its voice, singing for us."

Tiny eyes will light up with knowing. "Can you see the fish, hidden in the water? See that snake beneath the stone? The toad by the creek?"

"Who? Who is it?" The new ones will ask, impatient. The others will smile, sly and sweet.

"The one who reminds us that we are not alone. The one who knows we matter," they will reply. And Hanako, well, she will just smile along with them.

She knows the plan.

* * *

><p>Zabuza Momochi swipes the stone in his hand slowly, lovingly, down the blade of a sword on his lap. He likes the motion, smooth and controlled. He likes to feel the gritty slide of his whetstone down a blade, honing it down. With each stroke the blade in his hand grows a little bit more useful, a little bit better of a tool. He likes that, that something so simple can tame a hunk of steel into a deadly weapon.<p>

He likes control.

If you can control things, then you can use them as your tools. It is nice to use things, because it makes the world simpler. Tools make the world easier. They turn complicated tasks into easy ones. A hammer makes it easy to drive in nails, a fishing rod makes it easy to pluck fish from the water, and a blade makes it easy to take a life. Zabuza like tools almost as much as he likes control.

He slides the stone down the edge of the blade again, caught up in his thoughts. His thumb is dangling off the side of it, and there is a sting, and a bead of crimson. Sudden, irrational rage fills him. His teeth gnash together, and he wants to roar and break and destroy—

He exhales sharply and drives down the rage.

Placidly, he takes the stone in his hand and places it on the boulder to his side. He grips the sword handle in his hand with his uncut hand and squeezes it so tight his knuckles turn ashy white. He inhales deeply, then exhales again, long and slow. Color returns to his flesh. Carefully, he slides the newly sharpened blade into the sheath by his side and lays it down on the hooks behind him and goes back to the cement bench.

He sits down. With calculating, manic eyes, he observes the damage done. His thumb has an inch long slash down the center of it, oozing blood onto the callused pads of his finger. _Training will be harder tomorrow_, he thinks, staring at the liquid. It makes him think of the akasen district, it's streets bathed with red light. The akasen makes him think of the girl.

His heart beat picks up, his breathing sharp. The girl is interesting. It is exciting.

Zabuza remembers that night in perfect clarity, a memory he has played over and over again inside the confines of his head. He remembers going out that night to pick up something for his teacher, ending up in some dirty back alley, waiting behind a pile of trash at the back door of a brothel.

He remembers hearing the wailing first, the sound of a small animal in distress. He had turned his head then, peering through the gloom for the source, struck by a mild curiosity. What he seen was a grown man, his arms carrying an upset girl. She was small, dwarfed by the adults form and size, and she was dressed in the kimono many of the working girls favored. Silently, he watched on as the man dumped her in a pile of garbage and leaned in close, his breath misting in the air. He had faced forward after that, trying to ignore the activity going on only yards away. He didn't need to see this, it was gross, and he wanted to go back and deliver the package already.

"I'm not for sale!" the crying girl's voice screeched as she kicked uselessly.

He turned back at that, eyeing the man with even more disgust. Everyone knew that you didn't steal the young ones if they weren't on display. That was just common sense. The local yakuza would do you in for that, if the brothel didn't hire a shinobi first. It was just bad business, stealing flesh in a place where it was so openly sold.

"Let me go, let me go, _let me go_!" she cried again, her quaking voice filling the air.

He almost groaned out loud. Couldn't the little baby do anything other than cry? This was Kiri, not Konoha. No one was going to help her, and her voice was really grating on his nerves. Her kicks held no strength, and her hands were already pinned. Such a weak little thing shouldn't be out this late in the first place, especially if she wasn't for sale. It was stupid. She was weak and stupid. Maybe she deserved this.

The man leaned in close, and he could see his hands roaming, trapping the girls struggling limbs and pressing her close to him, caging her. She was dead already, she just didn't know it. The hold utilized the man's greater size and strength, and he saw the realization in her expression as the man pressed her into a makeshift embrace.

Then, he remembers, what that man held wasn't a little girl anymore.

It was if the whole thing happened at a slower pace than the world around them. The girl's eyes shuttered, and what looked out of them was hungry and alive. The dark orbs were filled with the malice and blood-lust of the beast that was possessing her. Her mouth descended and sunk into the tender flesh of his neck. The monster tore at the man, shook her head and ripped with her jaws. Blood steamed in the night air and flooded down her face and her pretty robes, staining them both. Her hand reached up and joined in the carnage, shredding the flesh of her assaulter, killing him then and there.

Zabuza remembers the excitement that ran in his veins, that shuddered and clawed through his heart. He recalls the possessiveness that shot through him when he looked at her, snarling and spitting and roaring at the corpse, her hair wild and robes askew. He recalls the need to own that monster, the one that stomped on the dead man's eyes and popped them like grapes, the creature that flung the flesh back at the dead body and howled in the night the success of her kill.

He remembers the demon that dressed itself once more in the skin of a child and walked calmly back into the night.

Zabuza looks at his thumb, and the trailing red. He places his bleeding appendage in his mouth, and wonders if the taste is the same she tasted that night. He wants that girl. He wants her to be his tool, to control her and wield her where and when he needs. He wants to tame her and temper her and hone her just like the blade he had held in his hands. He grins at the thought.

A monster, just like him, held at his beck and call. He hears they have finally found her, hiding in her fake skin. He hears that she will be joining the Academy soon.

He will make her his.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Okay! Just a look into some of the minds that Ryuishi is affecting. Thanks again to my beautiful beta, the Hate child, as she makes my work readable. Also, welcome Zabuza!<strong>


	9. Meeting a Psycho

I do not own Naruto

* * *

><p>The Shinobi Academy of Kirigakure is literally a sad conglomeration of broken concrete buildings mashed together, like an unfortunate pile of particularly bland tortoise shells. There are vines creeping over almost every foot of it, clinging on by invading the spiderweb of cracks. It looks incredibly structurally unsound—not that Ryuishi is knowledgeable in architecture in any possible way. That was not one of the college electives she took, thank you very much. She can tell you a lot about rocks, though. Geology is cool as fuck. It will probably never help her become a ninja in any possible way though, which sucks. What is she gonna do, identify the metamorphic composition of a doton jutsu as a wall of earth comes flying at her? Probably not. Though, the biology classes are sure to come in handy. Maybe.<p>

Taking a deep breath, she grits her teeth and steps through the dilapidated doorway. She hums the lavender town theme song under her breath, just to really set that horrible, creepy mood that accompanies this learning facility. Nothing quite like the crushed remains of a one-time building to guide you on your path of higher learning. Well, not really higher learning, more like mercenary for hire, uncontrollable sociopath learning. Still, if the song fits…

Each one of her steps echoes quietly through the halls, each in time with the humming. With the mist and the ruins and the darkness, it's really mood setting. She feels like a creepy ghost, and to be honest, it's sorta empowering. Actually, an empowered ghost could be a descriptor for her, what with the whole being dead thing. Could she make that into a ninja moniker? The Ghost of the Mist sounds tight as hell. She loves it already. Now, how to get people to call her that…

She muses for a bit more before she finds herself outside the door to the classroom. It is probably the only solid thing in this place, and is cast in soft shadows. The overhead lighting flickers momentarily, and the number 103 has never looked so ominous.

_God_, this whole place is a fucking wreck.

She stops humming and pushes the door open with a sigh. The inside of the classroom is a scene straight from a gangster movie. It is poorly lit, and gloomy as hell. There isn't a desk or a chair of a table to be seen. Instead, there is a large, barren, gymnasium type room with a domed ceiling. Children are split into groups with no apparent semblance of order at all. There is no grouping of age here either. (Though she does seem to be the youngest, and oh god that does not bode well at all.) There are large swathes of empty space between groups. Some of them seem to be just talking, while others seem to be playing a dice game, and she can see marbles and ryo being placed as bets. There are no windows, only a few bald light bulbs hanging far above them in places.

All in all, it looks more like a prison yard than a school.

Children are dressed in cobbled together outfits, betraying their less than wealthy backgrounds, and there are only two things that seem to be newly bought or well made. One of them is the weapons, the special kunai that are unique to Kiri, and ninjato and tanto and other assorted blades. It seems that the Mist's shinobi's preferences start young. The other thing is the clan kids' robes, and yes, she can spot the difference already. They are an isolated group, standing in the corner of the room, already running through kata forms. Their robes are tidy, and though their bodies are lean, they are unblemished and clean. The difference is obvious.

The door shuts behind her and all eyes turns to her. Ryuishi suddenly regrets arriving early.

_Get a grip. These are all brats. You can do this_, she thinks, firmly stepping forward. She meets the inquiring eyes, careful not to betray her nervousness. Her new, loose black cargo pants sweep silently across the floor and her skintight sleeveless grey turtleneck seems almost too warm. (She learned her lesson about fighting in kimono from her scuffle with Kisame.)

Ryuishi walks determinedly ahead, her eyes on nothing particular. Around her, there are whispers about her age, her gender, her station. Everybody wants information on the new kid, it would seem.

She walks calmly, listening intently to the whispers. If she knows what rumors there are about her, she can twist them to her advantage. She can use them. So intent on her musing, she never notices one of the children separate from the crowd and stalk her steps. Therefore, she is surprised by the strong hand tangling in her high ponytail, causing her to halt her steps, her head jerking back into a hard body. She looks up and comes face to face with a manically grinning boy with short, scruffy hair and dark eyes. She readies herself, believing it to be the start of a fight. She can elbow him and then—

"I know you," he says cryptically, interrupting her train of thought.

"Well, I don't fuckin know you," she spits instinctively, trying to ignore the tugging on her scalp and come up with a workable plan of escape. She fails. It hurts. She should weave barbed wire in her hair tomorrow, so this won't happen again. She mentally jots that down on her 'to do' list. He leans down, and woah, did this boy take lessons in creepy invasion of personal space or what? Her head is tilted back and she can feel his torso directly behind her, giving off heat like a furnace.

"You're the girl from the alley."

Ryuishi's heart stops. It has been two years, but she knows exactly what he is talking about. She remembers every heart stopping second of it. Some one saw that? Was that a thing people knew? It was just one murder, in self defense no less! It's not like there aren't buttloads of corpses lining the back streets of the akasen. She feels nauseous. Someone saw, someone knows, she's going to get in trouble—

"I knew you'd end up here," he laughs out, pulling her closer by her hair. Her scalp screams out in protest, but she throws an elbow back into his gut anyway. It connects and he grunts, but does not let go.

He turns to the room around them, meeting every other child's eyes challengingly, simply taking the back kick to the shin she gives him.

"THIS ONE," he bellows, giving her head a shake, his hand full of her hair, "IS MINE." The children stare for a moment, only to look away, cowed by the young boy.

(It is an impressive display of intimidation for an eight year old, she thinks.)

She lets out a breath between her teeth, hissing as she struggles against the kid, reaching up to the hand in her hair and digging her nails in. She can feel the flesh give and nearly cries out in joy when the boy tosses her forward. Ryuishi stumbles but plants her feet and turns to face the one who claimed her, angry black eyes glaring furiously up at him.

"I don't belong to anybody, yah piece of shit," she growls out, hands caressing her sore scalp.

The boy laughs, his eyes wide and menacing. He gives her a grin full of sharp teeth (and why does every fucking person she meets in Kiri have those? Do they file them down? Is it genetic? She needs to know, because they really leave an impression, and she's super jealous.) and looks down at her from his towering height of three inches taller than her.

"Well now you belong to Zabuza Momochi," he declares.

She suddenly thinks that maybe she should have just been a hooker.

* * *

><p>Their chunin instructor arrives and the groups are divided into three large ones. She is, unsurprisingly, placed in the younger children's class, alongside Zabuza. She believes it is because fate will get a good giggle when she is brutally murdered by the boy, just like everybody else in the class. She elects to pretend she knows nothing about it, and tries to ignore him. The kid will not stop grinning at her threateningly, and it's sorta creeping her out. The day begins with stamina drills, which are run much more like boot camp rucksack marches than any sort of P.E class. This, she is abysmal at. She pants and huffs behind the pack.<p>

Then, they begin to show them the cool down in the form of actual stretches and Academy Basic Katas. Here, she excels, displaying astounding flexibility. Mentally, she is very grateful she started doing her old gymnastic stretches again, alongside all the other training after the whole alley murder thing. One of the chunin instructor snorts when he sees her holding her foot by her head while standing, legs straight, and asks which brothel she came from. She tells him, because advertising is good for business, but makes a note to never go anywhere with him ever.

Then, they do target practice. Here, she is terrible again. (Her astigmatism really bit her in the ass. Not that Kiri would ever let her live if she needed glasses, god forbid. Human euthanasia is a _thing_ here, and it is awful.) They show her an example of form only once, then leave. She's atrocious at throwing things. She sinks about maybe three out of sheer aggressiveness, but none of them are near the center, and the others are not even close to the target. Zabuza laughs at her. She proceeds to kick him in the stones. The chunin has to break them up, and she earns a bruise on her collarbone.

After that, they are in a classroom and the teacher is showing the children characters, arithmetic, ninja theory, and history. The first two she completes with ease, and she is baffled by the last. History sounds like something out of North Korea. It's all 'Honorable Mizukage' and ' righteousness of Kirigakure'. It's complete tripe, obvious and shameless propaganda. Ninja theory is fun, and it covers survival, chakra theory, jutsu, strategy, etc. She thinks it might change week to week. Not to mention, the whole time Zabuza puts his grubby fuckin' mitts in her hair. It's pissing her off. Her hair did look nice this morning, but with his insistent tugging, it looks awful. She can't stand looking bad, and her vanity is weeping.

They break for lunch, and Ryuishi quickly attempts to scramble away, eagerly hopping over the desks to do so. She has to go and brood about how she's going to die, _again_, and how unfair life is while she eats. It's really very important, something that absolutely must be done, you see. Yet, life is a cold bitch, and right as she tucks herself into a shadowed corner and pulls her delicious char sui bao out, it is snatched from her hand. She shrieks. _Loudly_.

When she whirls around, it comes as no surprise that the shitty boy is right there, stuffing his mouth with one of her pork buns. Something inside her breaks. She stands tall, coming up to the boy's neck and is stopped with one, almost lazy, yank to her hair.

"You sack of slimy, offensive, raggedy ass shit! I hope you die! I hope eagles swoop down from the heavens, defecate directly in your mouth, peck out your eyes and then rip off your nipples! Give me my bun, you complete and utter degenerate dick sneeze!" she wails, her nails uselessly scratching down his arm. They leave scrapes and draw pinpricks of blood but the bastard does nothing. The insufferable eight year old just looks her directly in the eyes, smiles his crazy smile, and takes a bite out of his bun. Feeling over-dramatic, she goes limp and starts sniffing. Ryuishi knows it is a little over the top, but the pint sized douchebag has been harassing her all day. She thinks it might also be due to the fact that this is _Zabuza motherfucking Momochi, the guy who kills his entire class_.

(But she's ignoring that. Ignore ignore ignore.)

"I...I made those myself. S-so I could eat them today you f-fucking butt m-munch," she sobs out, looking up at him with big fat crocodile tears in her dark eyes. "They're m-mine..."

"Anything you own is mine," the bigger boy sneers, finishing his stolen food. He burps like a neanderthal, and no, it wasn't kinda impressive, not at all. "Plus you have another one in your bottom pocket, so hurry up and eat."

She manages to let out another fake stream of tears and a sniffle, going for the aforementioned bun. "I took two because one isn't enough to fill me up." Pulling it out and unwrapping it with an unhappy face, she relishes in her lie. She took three, and the last is in the pouch on her hip. She will eat it later, in the shoddy restroom stall, where Zabuza can't get her. The two do nothing but stand there and look imposing as other children try to edge in on their corner. Young they might be, but even Ryuishi understands turf warfare. Their odds for defending the spot increase substantially if there are two of them. To give it up is a sign of weakness, and being the youngest pair in here, the others will tear them apart.

Ryuishi loves children, but she knows that sometimes they can be the most cruel creatures of all.

The day ends with striking practice, which is a clever cover for pairing kids up and letting them beat the shit out of each other. They really don't care too much about style or form, and unless it's Academy Basic, they really don't correct you too much. If it is good enough to take out your opponent, who cares? She finally gets away from the shitty future-swordsman, and after a bathroom break, she proceeds to take out her frustration on an eight year old. The satisfaction she feels when her switchfoot thai kick breaks through his guard and slams into his skull after they had traded jabs for five minutes actually makes her smile. She feels less terrible about her tiny body, and losing both her previous fights. Then she remembers she just beat up an nine year old.

Then she remembers that her body is six, so hah! Take that, morals!

The boy limps away and some turn to examine her more closely, adjusting to the new information. She can see the moment she is moved from the 'ignorable victim' category to the 'competition' slot. It shows in the hunger in their eyes, through the desire to prove themselves. The Academy fosters this vicious competition, sparing the strongest a few kind words, and they class squabbles among themselves for this position.

She can appreciate the tactic, but still thinks it's wrong.

When the instructor calls an end to the day, Ryuishi is racing out. She is running even though her body is tired and sore. She is running through the classroom, through the hallways, through the streets. Away from the awful tedium that is school, away from the impending second death, away from Zabuza Momochi.

The streets are covered in snow, dirty and brownish in color, soaking up the filth from the ground below. Winters in Kiri are cold, cold enough to freeze the stink from the air and turn the fog into ice. There is frost on the walls and the winding green vines, a shimmering lattice work of crystals over the terrain. Icicles hang from the awnings and overhangs of the vendors and stores, whose yellow lights shine out like beacons in the gloom.

She _hates_ the cold. Just like she hates this godforsaken village.

Slowing down, she rubs her hands together and pants in them, hoping her warm breath will take the numbness and ache away. She wasn't bred for this type of weather. Her mom was full blooded Indonesian and her dad came from California for—

Reality strikes hard. Her mom is a whore and her dad probably doesn't know about her. He's also probably a fuckwad. She drops her slightly warmer hands into the depths of her pockets and keeps walking.

Fuckin' reality, always having to be a dick about things.

Her footsteps crunch quietly in the snow, and the feeling of grinding something down is nice. She pauses and take a moment to appreciate it, really stomping down on the stuff. She imagines Kisame's teacher's smug face under her foot. Fuckin' bastard, fuckin' traitor, grind grind grind. Yeah, that's the stuff…

Then she feels a prickle on the back of her neck, like somebody is plucking the hairs right out of her skin. Instinctively, she pivots to the side and spots the person she wants to see least right now.

"Oh, fuck you," she snarls out, hunching in smaller on herself, shivering. In front of her, the world's smallest, yet greatest, annoyance grins.

"You run fast," Zabuza says.

"Why are you singling me out you asshat?" she moans, dragging a hand across her face. It's official, the world hates her. She wants to be cremated, then sprinkled in the lunches of every kunoichi and shinobi in the village. Maybe, if she becomes a part of them, she can possess their bodies and rule the world. Or maybe she'll turn into poop. Whatever.

"I saw you in the alley that night," the boy says, once again invading her personal space. Ryuishi doesn't even try to stop him, and she has already begun to stop caring about this nonsense. It has nothing to do with how the child puts out heat like a small volcanic eruption. No wonder he was shirtless in the show.

"Oh, really? You'd think that wasn't the very first thing you said to me," she snarks back, trying to not be sucked into the the sweet siren song of warmth.

"I saw you rip someone apart. I can use that."

"Holy shit, you're fucked up in the head, aren't you?" she complains without to much venom. She isn't in the habit of denying herself things. Lying to herself, maybe, but denying, no. She knows that somewhere inside her, a piece of her wants to do it again. That makes them both fucked up.

"I want to see that again," Zabuza finishes, taking a step toward her. He's got that stupid, manic look on his face again. Ryuishi is coming to the understanding that she might have to get used to it. Really, who just pushes themselves on people like this?

(Somewhere, Hoshigaki Kisame shivers. If he ever sees that brat again, he thinks he should hit her.)

"You know what, Zabuza-san?" she queries, apathy flooding her. "Stay away from my hair, and I will accept this." Her life has officially spiraled completely out of control. Why not? Why fucking not make a deal with one whose only wish is to completely control her?

"No deal," he grunts out.

"What? Fucking seriously?" she asks, incredulous.

"I will do whatever I want. You cannot stop me. You're too weak," he states with all the pride an eight year old can muster.

"I'll kick you in the nuts again, if you really want to test me."

Zabuza briefly looks like he forgot that happened at all, even though it occurred less than four hours ago. Then he scowls at her, and drops a hand down to guard his crotch.

"Don't do that," he growls out, attempting at intimidation.

It's too late. It might have worked earlier, but Ryuishi has scared herself straight into not giving a shit by now.

"Don't pull my hair." she pauses for a moment, thinking it through. It won't be weird until puberty, and the way things are going, she'll be long dead before that, so… "Oh, and if I get cold, I get to use you as a heater."

The boy looks confused, but somehow seems to understand that they are haggling something important here. Ryuishi is just a fully grown adult in a chibi body, arguing about the details of a partnership with a violent eight year old with megalomania. _Perfect_.

"I get some of your lunch every day," he barters back, glaring at her determinedly. "And I will do whatever I want, whenever. When you kill somebody again, you will take me with you."

The girl sighs. His deals sound more like orders. Is she gonna regret doing this?

Probably.

"As long as I can retaliate with force equal to or greater than your attacks, I accept whatever the fuck this is," she says, taking out a frozen hand from her pocket and offering it. So what, she gets to die at the hand of an accomplice. That's not so bad. At least she knows her murderer.

Slowly, as if wary of tricks, he shakes it once and lets go.

She immediately sticks her frigid hand hand to his ribs and huddles closer. She can't feel her face, and talking so much has let out a good portion of her heat. Her lungs are cold, and she is dying of exposure, so what if she warms herself by using the devil's skin?

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><p><strong>AN: I know the dialogue here seems stunted, and that is important to note. Let's discuss some things. Zabuza is a socially unaware eight year old. He also fails to recognize people as people. What he sees in Ryuishi is a tool, not a human being. He wants to use her, control her, make her property. It's not a crush, or friendship, it's owner and slave mentality. He enforces this by physical displays of dominance, like an animal beating down on an unruly member of the pack. This is important to note.<strong>

**Ryuishi is so stressed, so not in control of her life that she is slipping into hysterical apathy. She's basically going 'Haha, I'm going to die again, at least I know how and who this time.'**

**Also, thank you so much for your reviews. They feed me and my writers soul. Another thanks to my beta the Hate Child. Love her, thank her.**


	10. Meeting an Epiphany

I do not own Naruto.

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><p>From there, things between Ryuishi and Zabuza fall into an uneasy truce. It is not a friendship, not in the least. Rather, it is an unhealthy symbiotic relationship where the two exchange things that the other has use for. It is almost devoid of benign emotions.<p>

Zabuza is almost obsessive in sparking violent outbursts in her, and begins to claim her as a sparring partner on a regular basis. It is brutal, and most of the time ends with her bruised and broken. The beat downs she gets should put a dent in her ego and pride, and they do wound it, but she whines and cries and gets back up. Each time they fight she has to call on a little more viciousness, dip a little further into her ruthlessness. She has to submerge herself in adrenaline and anger to numb the force of the blows he reigns down on her. The madder she gets, the more delighted he seems. He's even pleased on the rare occasion she wins in their little duels.

They even begin to meet up after class to beat the shit out of each other. The news of this impromptu training somehow makes its way to his teacher, the current wielder of Kubikiribocho. He is delighted to learn that his apprentice has made a friend, and wrangles her into training with them. Ryuishi is delighted, because she needs all the help she can get, and receives permission from Keiko and Kagami Okaa-sama to stay out later.

It is Zabuza's sensei that introduces her to the love of her life, the meteor hammer. The long, weighted chain works perfectly with her agility and flexibility, and flows like water. It is a mid-range weapon can be directed and redirected with every limb on her body. Her neck, shoulders, arms, hands, thighs, calves, and feet can all change where the heavy bladed tip ends up. If she catches the chain under her arm she can switch the swing from right to left, and then back with her calf. It works well with her taijutsu forms, which are unique in the sense that the stance, grab, and strike forms originating from her past life blend with the style taught in the Academy. The only bad thing is that the weapon requires so much practice, and often, she hits herself in the face or groin, or underestimates how much force there is in the swing and sends the length of chain flying in the wrong direction. All in all, at least she doesn't have to face Zabuza with nothing while he attacks her with a giant fucking bokken.

From their truce, the psycho boy also receives a steady supply of food. It had only taken a week for him to wizen up to the fact that she hid snacks on her body near compulsively. It was defensive eating at its finest. Now it seemed anytime he was a little bit peckish, he would simply hold out his hand and grunt, and she would pull food out from her many, many pockets. Or pouches. Or top. Or anywhere, really. It is kind of ridiculous. Most of it was sweets, or portable snacks she cooks at home with the other girls, all individually wrapped. There is always a variety of it stocked on her person. Bao, buns with different fillings, onigiri with almost every filling, tempura, dried fruits, hard candies, suckers, and over sized dumplings lined her person. It's a wonder to behold. She never even smells of the stuff, which is also astounding. Zabuza theorizes that her biggest skill lies within hiding things in plain sight.

Ryuishi on the other hand, gains little that can be actually seen.

She uses the poor boy as a space heater, of course. Winters have always been hard before, but at least then she had the thick, multiple layers of a formal kimono to insulate her small body. Now, however, she cannot do such a thing. It would make training impossible. Instead she has multiples of the same outfit, one that allows for movement and ease of breath. Unfortunately, the loose fabric of her pants is breezy and the shirt is not very warm. So, she trails near Zabuza, soaking in the psychotic child's ambient warmth. When the frost nips at her fingers or sends a wave of goosebumps down her arms, she places the freezing appendages on him. It is not an uncommon sight to see Zabuza jumping in the middle of class, suddenly assaulted with icy little fingers. Nor is it rare to see the little Ryuishi walking next to him, arms outstretched towards him as if he were a portable campfire.

She isn't sure if the beatings and harassment are worth the heat though.

There is something they share from this little deal, and it takes a while for her to notice it. It doesn't become obvious for a while because she is so wrapped up in training to stay alive. It is only when she goes to ask one of the students next to them a question, and he flinches, does she begin to understand.

The others avoid the duo if they can, shying away from the pair. They rarely meet their eyes, and when they do, their faces are alight with fear and venomous anger. No one encroaches on the little corner they have claimed as their own, even though she sees territory scuffles around them. When they walk alone, their classmates seem to look for the other one of them. They are the youngest in the class, and they should be easy pickings, but nobody seems to try.

Ryuishi thinks about it some, and she can see why they shy away from Zabuza. He exudes an aura of unfriendliness and hostility. His behavior is violent and controlling, and she doesn't think she has ever heard a nice word out of the spiky haired youth. His strength is obvious. He dominates in spars, smashing down opponents three and four years his senior. Every weapon he flings is on target, and he has the most stamina out of all of them, running farther and faster. Zabuza is a prodigy if she has ever seen one, and she can understand their aversion.

But why her?

Ryuishi likes to think she doesn't come off as mean. Maybe a little sarcastic and blunt, but not mean. She isn't a genius in stamina or strength. Maybe she leads the class in agility and flexibility, but those aren't as obviously off putting as Zabuza's insane power. (She once saw him crush a boulder with his bokken. Like, his wooden bokken. It turned to gravel, and it was upsetting to witness. Never before has she felt so jealous of an eight year old. ) Ryuishi, even after weeks, still trails behind on their morning runs. Even after all of her practice, all of her hard work, she can barely hit a target. She may be good at taijutsu, but it is still nowhere near Zabuza's level. The entire situation is baffling.

So, she asks Zabuza, the only one she can ask. He, in turn, grunts and points to the boy she sparred with on the first day.

At first she doesn't see it, but then she squints so she can actually look at his form, instead of a vague, blurry, humanoid shape. (Jesus, she wishes she had some glasses.) He is talking with someone, probably his group of friends. His white hair is smooth, his features happy. She almost doesn't see it. Then, he turns to face forward, calling someone behind them.

His face is a wreck.

He has the faint remnants of a bruise stretching from underneath his hair, to across his cheek, where her kick landed. When he opens his mouth to shout, she can see he is missing a few teeth. His nose is smashed and crooked. She distinctly remembers that Hozuki boy being much prettier.

Then she has an epiphany.

Hozuki.

_Clan kid_.

She whirls around, looking for the faces of all the opponents she had before the chunin instructors finally caved and partnered her with Zabuza. They are all in similar states of healing. At least half of them are clan kids.

She understands now.

She was an unknown, the youngest in the class, and on her very first day, she beat down somebody who was supposed to be leagues above her by blood alone. She was a nobody, just some spare akasenko. She wasn't an future apprentice to a swordsman like Zabuza. She wasn't from the noble clans like the Hozuki, the Kaguya, or the Yuki children. She should have never won.

How could she win?

Before now, she had never realized what an unfair advantage she has. She has lived an entire life before this one, and it shows, even when she does not want it to. It is a hack, a cheat, an underhanded win. Watanabe Ryuishi has fifteen years of education rather than six months. Watanabe Ryuishi has ten years of mixed martial arts training instead of a single half year or so. Watanabe Ryuishi is twenty six years old, not eight like her classmates. Watannabe Ryuishi has gone through the emotions and whims of childhood once already. She has faced puberty. She has had survival training. She knows what she wants and how to get it. She has done a million things, traveled a thousand places, politicked her way through a bureaucratic world, studied class and cultural differences and human nature itself.

Watanabe Ryuishi is an adult, and they are children. (And yet, she still cannot best Zabuza. That asshole.)

With a huff and a laugh, she leans against the corner and slides down the wall, plopping down boneless next to the demonic boy. She feels like breaking things. She had been so, so sure that she did not stick out. She had never noticed the instructors placing her with progressively harder opponents. She never noticed the children's clan backgrounds. Her social obliviousness has come to haunt her.

She has risen above the others in a noticeable way, and Kiri hates things that stand out. She and the boy next to her will have targets on their backs for the rest of their days in this shitty village.

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><p>It is only a few days later that the instructors swap out material and begin a new subject in Ninja Theory.<p>

(She has buried the thoughts of her newest problems with the rest of them, far underneath her conscious mind. She smothers her mind with feigned ignorance and apathy, going through her routine. Wake, morning hygiene and stretches, eat, go to class, train, eat, leave school, train, eat, sleep. It keeps her stable and in control, but Keiko is worried. She tells Ryuishi that she is shouting babble in her sleep, weeping and grinding her teeth. The young girl ignores that too, other than adding meditation to her before bedtime activities.

When she does meditate, she can sometimes see the facets of herself. Each one receives things to tuck away in the corners of her head, and they seem fine with this. Save for one, who is always screaming, always thrashing, always roaring. She ignores that part, but some nights, she thinks it is growing louder.)

They are learning about Chakra today. Ryuishi is ecstatic, practically bouncing up and down on the hard cement bench that is her seat. This is magic, this is laser beams and giant robots! Chakra is not bound to the laws of physics like mere mortals! Chakra is unstoppable! She finally gets a superpower! Oh man, oh man, oh man!

To be honest, she had tried messing around with the stuff before. She had progressed beyond blowing up the walls of the Okiya in desperate attempts to climb them. Now, after two years of practice, she can crawl up dirty alley walls. Most of the time. Using it exhausts her, and not in a physical way. When she pushes her limits it feels like morphine and broken glass is running through her veins. It's painful and awful and it feels like she's dying.

(It feels like floating on the edge of the Void.)

So, she did what the anime advised, and waited for further instructions. Now look at her! The instructors had just explained the theory behind it.

"Chakra is a mix of Physical and spiritual energies moving through the body blahblahblah pull physical from blood cells blahblahblah train it by training body blahblah Spiritual is pulled from your mind, train it by meditating and shogi and blahblahblah mix in your stomach blahblahblah Keep these water droplets on your forehead!"

Ok, sue her, it wasn't word for word, but the instructor was basically the physical manifestation of a bad fart, so she really didn't pay attention to him anyway. The materials were nearing her seat, a small bottle and an eye dropper. She was excited! Oh man, she couldn't wait to show off! Her ego needed some attention after getting roughed up so bad lately.

Finally she clutched a bottle in her hand, and with one last glance around the room at failing children, she closed her eyes and brought the dropper to her forehead. Letting a single fat drop plop down on her, she focused on her body, letting the colder, more calculating part of her mind take over. With precision she didn't normally have she dredges up part of her spiritual energy and part of her physical energy and mixes them evenly inside her gut before focusing the new mixture on the drop.

It feels like seawater washing through her, cold and briny and alive. The sensation always leaves goose bumps on her skin, and she could almost smell the ocean air. No, it was like fire and warmth, or tangible breezy, freedom. It was hard to describe. The closest thing she could compare it to would be like a shot of your favorite liquor when you're craving it most, but colder. That feeling of your muscles relaxing and your breathing evening out. The taste of something on the back of your tongue. Chakra was just... _amazing_.

The drop on her head holds steady and she puts another on her arm in an attempt to show off her awesome chakra control, but when she looks up at the room, eager for praise, all she finds is fear.

The instructors are wide eyed and shaky, gazing at the seat beside her, and children are running out of the room. With an inquisitive face, she turns to look at the boy sitting beside her.

Zabuza is wreathed in a dark aura that is shaped like hellish figures trying to escape their prison. The mass of darkness around him writhes and almost seems to moan, just below hearing range. It is a wriggling conglomerate of damned souls, all desperate and agonized.

_Oh_.

Oh yeah!

Zabuza has special chakra, she remembers now! It showed up in the Fourth Shinobi War arc. The very aptly, and not at all creatively named 'demon chakra'. She guesses that no matter how crazy your chakra is, the horrible thing that is death will always top the feelings of misery it brings. Death has kind of numbed her to malice and other people's horrible intentions. She might feel like she's suffocating? Maybe the air is a little heavier? Whatever, there's more important things to think about.

"Hey, Zabuza, look. Two at once," she comments, deadpan. Her little hands are raised to point at the two, very still, very stuck, droplets of water.

The boy slowly turns his head to glare at her, the shivering shroud around him fouling the air. His eyes pierce hers and seem to stare into her very soul, glinting with an unholy light. His mouth is pressed in a thin line, his jaw clenched in concentration. A single, small drop of water is wobbling on the taut skin of his forehead, between his shapely brows.

"Appreciate me, Zabuza. I'm over here, being great, while you party it up in loserville with only one drop. Look, I'll add another." she does, holding the three the drops firmly in place. "See, I'm amazing. My chakra is much more useful than yours."

He grunts something that sounds kind of like a 'No'. The water on his skin slides precariously before freezing.

"Well, at least my chakra never summoned demons from hell," she spits out, pouting. A loud groaning sound fills the air, and the drop on his head slides lower. Ryuishi is smirking, and the chunin look frozen between confusion and disbelief.

"Oh, I'm sorry, am I ruining your concentration, Zabuza-san?" she asks, scooting closer on the bench. The three specks of liquid on her are stone still. "Would it help if I did...this?" she queries, her tiny hand going up to his hair, running through it gently.

Zabuza is stone still, tense under her fingertips.

"How about… THIS?" she shouts, grabbing a fist full of the fluff and yanking on it. The drop on him splashes to the ground and his chakra sputters for a moment, before emerging in greater mass than before. He shouts wordlessly before going for her. She cackles and goes to escape, dodging his first swing and jumping up to clear the table. A hand grips around her ankle and slams her down, and then there is nothing but fists and feet, claws and teeth. Three more drops join Zabuza's on the ground.

"I ORDER YOU TO NEVER DO THAT AGAIN!" he shouts, crushing her forearm in his hand.

"I ORDER YOU TO SUCK MY DICK!" she counters, stomping down on his inner thigh.

The instructors are ignoring them, recovering from the hellish encounter. They decide to round up the other children before splitting them apart.

They are too caught up in mauling each other to care.

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><p><strong> AN: Zabuza and Ryuishi antics! Here we see some of their relationship as children, and to be honest, I'm still not pleased with this chapter. I wrote it a while ago but it still seems...rushed I guess. Anyway, if you think that Ryuishi's chakra control is nonsense and Mary sue, please remember that she is an adult who is used to controlling her body and her mind. Also remember that she has been playing around with it off screen for around two years now.<strong>

**And yes, the introduction of Zabuza's scary chakra! Which is canon, and just sort of existed forever if I understand it right.**

**Another shout out to the Hate Child for being my lovely beta**!


	11. Meeting your Home

I do not own Naruto

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><p>Watanabe Ryuishi is seven now.<p>

She is tired, and sore.

Her body is littered with ugly bruises, blooming in shades of blue and yellow and black. They spot her tanned skin, visual reminders of how much better she is getting. It has been months, and her progress has soared higher than she could have conceived when she was training herself alone. Her (very cute) face may be lined with scratches and accented by a swollen, scabbed bottom lip, and she may have had at least three of her baby teeth knocked out, but it is worth it. Her tiny hands are growing hardened with calluses, and her knuckles are dusted with scars, both earned from facing off with Zabuza multiple times a day. Her shins are hard, the bones beneath her skin conditioned by days spend kicking progressively harder targets. Her once soft arms and thighs are beginning to show the obvious musculature of a fighter.

It has been painstaking, horrible, soul crushing work. Every lazy bone in her body screamed at her to lie down, to take the beatings and go to sleep. Every ounce of vanity had shrieked and bemoaned the fate of their once beautiful and blemish free features. Still, day after day, she got up, went to class, and trained with Zabuza and his ball busting teacher.

Every single fucking day, she worked with her meteor hammer. She oiled the chain and sharpened the weighted blades, then worked and worked and worked until her strikes hit their targets with devastating effects. She sweated and bled until she could deflect bone fracturing blows with a stretch of linked metal and she cried herself out until she stopped rolling her ankles and could dance across a battlefield. She can stick to walls and run on water, if only for a short while. Her chakra reserves are small, but just like every muscle in her body and every personality in her mind, she can control it with amazing effectiveness.

She is growing competent.

She can snatch a kunai out of the air, even if she still can't throw them worth a damn. She can turn the movements of her body and inertia of her weapons into damaging strength. She can hike for days, even if she can't run. She can hide in hollows and gutters and houses for hours before being found.

She knows her path will never lead to ninjutsu specialty. Her reserves are too small, and even with the training, she barely scrapes up the normal amount. Chakra practice leaves her especially drained. Zabuza is busting out the Hiding in the Mist jutsu weeks before her, and the amount of fog he creates is massive. He can cover acres with the stuff by the time she can finally fill a hundred square yards. It takes longer for him to learn wall and water walking, but when he does, he can far outlast her. The only thing that he doesn't beat her at is the art of silent killing they are beginning to learn, and that is because most of it is based on memorization.

(Those biology lessons finally came in handy. She knew they would.)

Still, most of their spars end with her lying in a beaten pulp and bleeding out, with him only earning a few bruises. She is exhausted. She is tired and sore. Standing with her class outside of the village walls in front of an endless lake shrouded in mist, she is happy.

Not because she worked, no, fuck that. She's happy because she hasn't swam in fucking ages.

Today the class is learning about another Kirigakure special. The instructors creatively call them Gills. They are small, bronze colored, tubular devices that would have every diver she had met in her past life coming in their wetsuits.

Gills, they explained, allowed for sabotage from underwater. They allowed the user to be submerged for hours at a time, using chakra to filter a mix of hydrogen, oxygen and nitrogen from the water. Light weight and about the size of a compact gas mask, they were a staple of the village. This week they would be taught how to use them, and the dangers of staying underwater too long, or going too deep.

When they separate the class in to two (those who know how to swim, and those who do not), Ryuishi leaps at the chance to head the line of 'knows how'.

In another life, when she had been known as Cat Frank, she had been ridiculous swimmer. As an island bred brat and a beach and mountains child, most of her life had been spent in the liquid embrace of water. It makes her heart ache, to remember years of lessons in the ocean. How to dive beneath a wave to escape its force, how to calm your heart so you can dive deeper, how to surf on a long board. Her father taught her how to read the tide and work with the currents. The water didn't change in either world, and standing so close to even fresh water, she feels like she is coming home for the first time in years. Seriously, she is going to start crying.

She needs this, _now_.

The chunin instructor, that physical incarnation of a fart, smirks grossly at her, expecting her to sink. When she jumps in, and rises as smoothly as a sea snake, he looks disappointed, but hands over a breather with vague instructions of use, and lets her go, focusing on the next child. The water is shockingly cold, and tries to steal her breath away, but she remembers the chill of the pacific, the wild of its waves. She braces herself and breathes deep, measured breaths, letting her already cold skin get used to the temperature.

Ryuishi feels free for the first time in six years.

Even with wet, baggy clothes slowing her down and dragging in the water, anyone watching can tell this is where she belongs. She casts one last look behind her, sees Zabuza scowling unhappily at her from mid way up the line, flips him off, and slinks underneath the surface.

Sound cuts out, and her already poor sight is limited even further. She can hear the slow and steady _thumpthumpthump_ of her heart in her ears, and she wants to sing to the world of her innocent joy. With her free hand she places the cool rubber bit in her mouth, tastes the sharpness of the water, and breathes deep, feet below the surface.

Her hair is a wild whip behind her, hung in suspended animation, and with a quick scissoring motion of her legs, she is off. Her body glides seamlessly in the water, and her aches melt away. Her bruises and cuts don't matter, because the thin light filtering from above is not enough to illuminate her. She reaches a hand up, pinches her nose, and blows hard against the blockage. Her ears pop and the pressure evens out inside her head. Ready now, she dives down into the inviting darkness, arms outstretched in front of her.

Her body is streamlined, smooth and ready to twist and turn at the slightest motion. The inky depths embrace her, and she makes sure to stay in the safe zone of anywhere from fifteen to twenty five feet. Any deeper and she risks getting a case of the bends if she rises too fast. With alternating kicks of her feet, she eats up distance, testing her limits. With each rippling undulation of her body, she descends.

Her heart is slow and steady, despite the activity, her breath still measured in seconds. (Seven in, hold four, seven out.)

Suddenly, she is Cat Frank again.

She is Cat Frank, and she is four, and her father is holding her strong and showing her how to angle her body and stand against the waves.

She is Cat Frank, and she is five, and her mother is teaching her how to dance across river stones without splash.

She is six and her brothers and her are wrestling in the lake, a newborn safe on the shore.

She is eight and her family is plucking fish from the water on bottles wrapped in string. She teaches a toddler how to swim, like her father and mother taught her.

She is ten, and she is cliff diving for the first time.

She is fourteen, and she can catch catfish with her bare hands, and knows the best spots to swim and fish and boat.

She is eighteen, and her and her best friend are laughing, clutching to a buoy in the middle of a humongous summer storm. Lightning strikes the water a mile away and they cheer.

She is nineteen and she looks out at the warm gulf coast, and she loves it too. The waters call to her and soothe her stressed heart.

She is twenty, and everyone she loves is sunbathing on the bluffs, the water lapping against the stones.

Her heart is screaming, and she knows there are tears in her eyes, but she is finally, finally home. Ryuishi is where she was born to be, tight in the water's hold. Her veins are rivers, thrumming beneath her skin, and her heart is a sea, urging her on.

She wants to sing, to shout. Her soul feels warm, and she _lovselovesloves_ so very much the water and the memories it holds. She hits the soft, silty bottom.

She turns around, facing the surface from below, and prepares. She removes her Gills and places them in her pocket. Her body is slick, and her legs suddenly lose their leisurely pace, kicking off with a purpose, and then furiously propelling her forward. The water rushes past, and even with clothes dragging her back, she is faster than ever before. Her heart thumps and her head hurts from the drastic change in pressure.

Ryuishi bursts out from the water and into the air, twisting through the sky, and lets out a cry of pure joy.

For a moment, she can see the others piddling around, like newborn ducks. The instructors are waist deep, one in front of a group who seem lost in the liquid, another watching a the spaced out group with Gills in their mouth, tentatively hiding beneath the surface.

(They see her, and it seems to them that they have never seen her before now. Like how a bird looks so different in flight. The chunin notes that they haven't had that sort of talent in water since Kisame Hoshigaki was in class. The Hozuki child thinks she would not be out of place among his clan. Zabuza thinks that there isn't just a monster hidden inside the girl, but a sea krait as well.)

Later that week, they introduce underwater combat. The lake is covered in floating platforms, and many of the children can already stand on its placid surface. In Kiri, water walking is the equivalent of tree jumping. It is taught young, and is almost essential to shinobi life. They practice for the last two days in an all out battle royale, and occasionally the instructors jump in as well. It is a jutsu and weapons filled free-for-all. The only rules are no killing and no injuries that will last for more than two months.

Zabuza holds a whole section of it by himself with his bokken, ruthlessly taking out groups of attackers, and smashing his way through the ones on the surface, gaining ground like crazy. Most kids are on top of the water as well, only popping in the liquid to gain a surprise angle to their attacks.

Three people do the exact opposite.

One is the Hozuki child, who is getting better and better with his clan's blood line limit. He slips and slides around the upper part of the lake, dodging attacks and holding his opponents under until they surrender, occasionally using his Ninjato.

Another is one of the chunin instructors, who watches and strikes at any student who he believes isn't putting enough effort into the fight. He leaves them with bruises and gashes as warnings, taking a delight in drowning the much smaller figures, before heaving them up on shore to vomit out liters of water, marked by their teachers fists and kunai.

The last is Ryuishi, who utilizes every tool she has. She grabs ankles, interrupting other fights, and pulls them into her world. She uses their sluggish reflexes against them, the water slowing their strikes and cushioning their blows. She wraps them tight in her holds, squeezing until trails of bubbles leave their mouths. She jumps out from below to land surprise strikes with her meteor hammer, tumbling entire groups into the lake before she falls back into the water. She takes them down one by one as they struggle in her chains, a song in her heart and a set of Gills in her mouth.

In the end, the instructor leaves and it becomes a three way fight between the Hozuki, her, and Zabuza. The air is thickened with multiple Hiding in the Mist jutsu, and Zabuza has a hard time finding the other two as they struggle against each other under the water's surface. Eventually a body flies upward from the force of an unseen blow, followed by a chain. An extra strike to it makes sure it stays down, and with his free hand, Zabuza yanks as hard as he can on the clanking metal. Ryuishi flies out of the water, still holding onto the middle of it, and arcs through the air above him while sending down the other bladed end at him with her foot. She laughs, loud and bright and clear, the happiest he has ever seen her, the Gills tumbling out of her mouth. (They are quickly caught and stuffed in a pocket.) Her long hair is trailing loose behind her, tangled and made wild by the activity of the day, her eyes bright and shining.

He knocks the end away, and she splashes back down, swimming below him. He pulls her up again and again, ignoring how tangled he is becoming in the heavy metal as he stands on the waters surface, surrounded by tainted chakra. Eventually, his ignorance is what does him in, and she offsets his balance as they loop around his legs. Tied down and sinking fast, he struggles, but the water is her home, her life, and she gains a win, one of those rare victories that seems to always elude her when it comes to him.

The last thing Zabuza sees is her smiling face, illuminated by the soft rays that filter through the water and her billowing cloud of hair as she chokes the air out of him.

That week is the happiest Ryuishi can ever remember having in Kirigakure. The joy does not last.

The week that comes after the last of January, and the fresh love of her family is still there. It aches and it bleeds inside of her, but it is tinged with the joy they once shared.

Ryuishi goes to bed every night, and after she meditates, she closes her eyes and remembers every detail that she can. She has been doing this since she was born. Sometimes, it is hard to recall the sound of her brother's voice, and the first time she lost it, even after all that happened between them, she cried. She wept hot, bitter tears and, furious at herself, she tried to recall every name he called her, every childhood torment and every special occasion that they finally admitted they loved each other.

She can't remember her pets anymore, or her high school locker combination, or her first college class. She can't remember what her old room looked like, or the names of her old bosses. It scares her.

What she does recall is the sound of their laughter, the shapes of their faces, the tones of their voices. She remembers long and hard, every night, desperately clinging on to them. She recites their hobbies and histories over and over again inside her head like a twisted lullaby until she falls asleep. She cannot draw well, but she keeps trying and trying, hungry to see them again after so long, and hundred of papers full of the same faces with minor differences have filled the Okiya at one time or another.

In the brothel kitchens, she cooks the recipes her mother and father taught her, and the working girls delight in her creativity. In survival practice, she ties her hooks and guts her kills just like her dad showed her, and the instructors comment on her skill. When she hums, it is her brother's favorite songs, her mother's favorite hymns, and her father's old rock music, and Keiko tells her she should have be a musician instead of a kunoichi.

She remembers them every single day of her life. Almost every little habit or tidbit she does is them shining through, the family that she cannot reach. And on January Thirtieth, the day of her sisters birthday, she disappears. This year is harder, with memories playing so loudly in her head. She tells everyone she is going to play, or train.

People can follow her, if they want. Maybe somebody trails her, but she knows her actions will make no sense to them. There is no sackcloth in this world, but there is a sort of burlap. She steals ashes from the oven. She writes a note in secrecy, in a language that no one here understands and then she folds a tiny paper boat from it.

She wanders slowly, thinking the whole time, before coming to the cleanest creek in all of Kiri. It is the river in the trade district, the on that funnels supplies in and out of the island.

There she finds a secluded place and places the old burlap sack around her shoulders, and using the water as a mirror, she dusts her face with ashes. The patterns swirls and twist, mimicries of a tribe that is only just being born in this world mixing with a religion that never existed here. Then, dressed in sackcloth and painted in ash, she sets the boat in the water and cries, long and hard as the little paper ship floats away.

Her dad told her once that all rivers melt into the sea, and that every ocean connects. Ryuishi knows that wherever they are, they are near water.

She prays that her little ships find them.

* * *

><p><strong> An: YAY! No dialouge, but more story! Here we see the introduction of one of a Ryuishi trademark move. And more fun stuff between the two. Thank you for the reviews and favorites and follows!<strong>

**Also, It was brought to my attention that my Indonesian grammar needs work back in chapter 6. I am sorry. I did not grow on the islands, only with an immigrant mother who curses at me in a foreign language. **


	12. Meeting your Mistake

I do not own Naruto. Triggers for gore.

* * *

><p>The rice is sticky and is refusing to come off her hand. It is lunch time, and she is currently munching on a lemper roll. The flavor of spicy chiles and curry-like chicken dances across her palate, and when mixed with the glutinous rice it becomes more than delicious. Unfortunately, the extra glutinous rice makes it harder to eat, because the little grains stick to fucking everything.<p>

Ryuishi thinks that if they could harness the stickiness of rice, the world might not have use for chakra.

She swallows the last bite of her roll and relishes in the feeling of abated hunger. Sure, she has two more rolls left, but they're Zabuza's share, and she stuffed them with extra chiles this morning, just for him. Not that he likes spicy food or anything, she just likes seeing the kid cough and sweat with the heat.

She picks a kunai out of her pouch and delicately runs the sharp blade down her flattened palm. It shaves the little grains away, and she smiles as she wipes the residue off her palms and onto her pants. Maybe she can't throw them worth a damn, but they sure had other uses.

Hands now clean, she stows the tool back on her hip and leans back in the corner, waiting for the other child to show up. He usually pisses right before lunch, and woah, she knows this boy's habits way too well. Gross, regret, apathy.

They had been training together for a little over a year now, and she has never felt stronger. She finally mastered the Hiding in the Mist jutsu, and can even cast slight genjutsu, but her taijutsu and bukijutsu are still her best selling points. The school term is coming to a close, and winter break will probably be full of even more training. She can do it.

She smiles to herself with pride as she sees the spiky haired boy make his way over to their spot. The crowds part for him, splitting on either side like water in front of a boat. His scowl is hidden behind the iconic bandages wrapped around his face. Funnily enough, the boy had only started wearing them after their week long lesson on gaseous poisons. He had tried the standard issue gas mask, but the devices were well beyond their non existent pay. The chunin instructor, in a fit of pity or madness (or both), had suggested cloth. It would lessen the effectiveness of poison gas, but in no way would prevent toxins from entering his body. Ryuishi had told him it was probably for the best, because he looked like he was going to a rave instead of participating in a battle. This had devolved into a fifteen minute explanation of what a rave was. After Zabuza had grunted and told her he knew what she was talking about, she had the startling realization that those things existed in the Naruto world.

They were called 'reibu', and one day she was going to one.

The spiky haired boy scowls at her smirking face and crouches down across from her, silently holding out his hand for his share. She hands the rolls over, surreptitiously anticipating the fun. Ever the gentleman, he grunts out his appreciation—or, whatever? He grunted a lot—and bites into his food. She lets a foxy grin stretch over her face, and he notices immediately. Exactly like the times before, his pale complexion floods red and he chokes, spitting half chewed bits of food from his mouth which falls all over his sitting form. Impressively enough, some even land on her pants.

But unlike all the times before, Zabuza flies into a fit of rage.

He pops up with a snarl full of unthinking fury and lashes out before she can stop him. His powerful fist rushes out and smashes into her jaw, forcing her head to bash against the stone wall behind her. A tight, high gasp of pain escapes her lips, and she see stars. She can feel her body slump down, and the sound of ringing fills her ears. Her thoughts jumble and her vision grows watery.

What the _fuck_?

Sure, she and Zabuza had traded blows like this before, but never so unprovoked. It was usually during sparring or wrestling. The last time he ate food she messed with, he had just pinned her and sat on her the rest of the day, allowing the other children to laugh at her. It had been forgotten the next day. The time before that, he had slathered mud into her hair.

Looking up at the boy with blurry vision, his fist still raised toward her and his eyes full of violence, she doesn't understand. He was nine now, and nine year olds could take a joke, right?

Nine... he was nine, why did that set off alarm bells inside her head?

Ryuishi raises a calm hand to the back of her head, his eyes tracking her movement the whole way. Her fingers dig through the strands of her hair and press into something warm and wet. When she holds them in front of her face, they are stained red.

The little rat bastard split her head open over spicy food!

Her gaze finally meets his, and he lingers for a moment on her bloody fingertips before meeting her stare. He looks like he has calmed down a bit, but not much.

"Zabuza," she croaks out, gesturing at him, "What the shit man?"

He glares at her once again before throwing the remains of his lemper roll at her feet and stalking off. He doesn't return to class for the rest of the day.

That night, Ryuishi walks home alone for the first time in months. Her head is full of thoughts of her companion, and his demeanor lately. The pint-sized prick has been moodier, his emotions swinging on an out of control pendulum that she can't read. She can't understand it, and it is beginning to worry her.

Something itches in the back of her head, and it seems like she is forgetting something.

Zabuza and her were never supposed to meet, but she has little to no control over these things. At first, she played along with his game because of the benefits it brought her. She got instruction from a strong teacher, a reliable sparring partner, and somebody to while away time with. Now...now Zabuza feels less like a trial she has to pass in order to gain things and more like…

She doesn't know. If she was actually seven years old, the boy might have seemed like an older brother figure, but she isn't a child.

He doesn't seem to drag out her maternal instincts in anyway, or her protective older sibling streak at all. He is mature and ambitious, and their personalities may prick each other, but when it comes down to it they mesh surprisingly well. They share food and joke together. They spend an inordinate amount of time training as well. Without him by her side, she wouldn't socialize with anybody. He is both as mature as her and he lets her joke and play.

He almost can count as… as an equal.

She mulls on that for a while as she settles into her nightly routine, then tries to figure out the secret of his sour moods. When she wakes up in the morning, she is still sure she is forgetting something.

She bathes and dresses, and fixing her long hair she tries to think about something else. She fills her pouches and oils her weapon before wrapping it around her waist. She goes through her stretches and eats her breakfast.

Is he worried about them splitting up for the winter? Nah, he wouldn't care about that. Anyway, the younger classes are going on for a few weeks more, it's only the oldest class's turn to graduate today, so what does it matter?

_Graduate_.

Zabuza is nine.

Panic fills her heart, and it feels like somebody is choking her out. She bonelessly drops her bowl of rice and it shatters on the ground below her. Keiko calls her name, but she is frantic and terrified as she scrambles out the brothel, splintering the door in her haste.

She wants to vomit. She wants to cry. _How could she forget_?

She is flying down the empty early morning streets, her feet pounding on the ground.

No, no, nonono. _Children_. They were all children! Just little tiny brats who should be in middle school, whinging about homework and strict parents. They should be riding the bus, worried about fashion and sexuality and what was for lunch. They couldn't be, no, they had such full lives ahead of them, even if they were child soldiers.

She wants to kick her own ass.

Her baby sister's face flutters through her mind, all shining and happy. They are just like her! They are kids, dammit, _kids_! They needed adults and love and warm, safe places, and she has been trying so hard to give it to them!

She prays hard, harder than she can remember for a long time. She isn't fast, and it is killing her. Her sandaled feet slip in the slick, fog laden streets and she trips, scraping her arm as she does. She ignores the blood and her dirty clothes as she climbs back up and continues her pace, wishing her brothel was closer to the school.

Her gut is heavy in her abdomen, and her breath is coming in gasps. She can't breathe, she_ can't fucking breathe_! She thinks the stress is getting dangerously high, but she can't seem to care. There are children waiting, children,_ just children_… She knows it's not healthy to keep equating them to her sister, but she can't stop.

She runs deliriously through the mist, coming closer to the Academy, where they will be. Something moves like snakes underneath her skin and it feels hollow and empty, like a part of her is floating away in the dark. She can see the cracked, domed roofs lined with vines, and her side hurts from running so far, but she keeps pushing until she is in front of the doors, shoving her way through them.

The silence inside the building is deafening, and she lets out a sob that echoes around her. The light of dawn is just breaking through, and the halls are filled with the sound of her panting for breath. She takes an unsteady step forward, blood rushing in her ears.

Then another.

Then another.

Her heart flutters wildly in her chest, and she practically suffocates with dread. The corridor stretches out forever in front of her, the bare bulbs casting their yellowed light on the decrepit walls. Her hands are shaking. The sound of her sandals meeting the concrete floor is empty and muted.

She doesn't want to know.

She has to know.

She keeps walking.

Ryuishi stares at the approaching door, and remembers her first day here, when she thought that it was the only whole, unbroken thing in the building. She remembers knowing the first day here what would happen.

How could she forget? How could she be so dumb?

The door stands ominous and frightening before her, and a trembling hand reaches out to open the upper years classroom. It opens quietly, without a squeal.

Ryuishi walks in, and wants to cry harder. There are bodies strewn all over the gymnasium building. They are broken and bleeding and so, so small and _deaddeaddead_. There, in the corner, is the Hozuki child she competed with at the lake, his eyes wide and glassy, his trachea poking out from the soft red meat of his neck. There is the girl who sometimes painted her nails in class, only she has no hands, just mangled stumps with skinless strings of flesh and tendons poking through. Her vein dangles out of her wrist like the worms that will soon eat her corpse. The Kaguya boy who was two years ahead of them and looked down at them with scorn is motionless. His white bones are pierced through his own gut, his bowels spilling out like snakes, ripening the air with the smell of feces and bile.

They stare, empty eyes and mangled bodies, and they whisper to her.

_You did this, you let him do this._

They where babies, just little kids. She...she failed them.

_She looks out at them, and her baby sister looks back at her._

That nothingness inside her squirms and shivers, and she still cannot name it, but it burns through her, buried under sorrow. Her strangled sob fills the air.

In the center of the room, covered in filth, Zabuza looks up at her and growls. Tears pour down her face, and she looks at him, sobbing, and anger begins to bloom inside of her.

"Monster," she whispers, her hands going to her weapon.

He slides into a stance, and raises his blade. Not his bokken, his blade. The sword he used to cut down every little one in this room. The tachi he used to _murder children_.

The rain inside her soul turns to thunder, and the winds pick up. Blood howls in her veins and an ocean rises up inside of her, indignant and heartbroken. Fat, wet tears slide down her face and sting her swollen eyes. Rage wells within her, crying out for retribution. She is shaking, and she doesn't feel like herself. This isn't her body anymore.

Ryuishi locks eyes with him, and _screams_. She screams with her broken voice, like she did the night she ruined it forever. The sound rips through the quiet, a shriek of pain and hate, carrying everything inside of her. She can't think, she can't breathe, she is looking through a lens at the scene.

Zabuza answers with a roar of his own, and she can feel the violence of it in her bones.

She darts forward, and she feels from far away how much she wants to tear him apart, how betrayed by his actions she is. How could she, how could she forget what a demon he was? Her meteor hammer is cold and slick in her hands, and she swings it forward, the bladed end tearing through the air towards the boy she had spent a year together with. The boy that ate her food and pulled her hair. The thing that killed a hundred children.

He angles his sword, catching the chain, and the metal links wrap tight around it, even as they rush toward each other over the lifeless forms of their school mates. He plants a foot inside the torn up torso of a girl, _just a little girl_, and slashes it down, and the chain falls to the ground. Then the other end is rushing towards him, heavy and sharp as it cuts through the gloom. He flings a kunai and knocks it off course, but the other end is already moving again, arcing up from the ground and cutting through his pants and the tender flesh of his thigh.

He roars again, and the approaching girl howls back.

This is so, so fucked up. They were all children. They were so young, at the oldest, twelve, and now their broken bodies lay over the ground like lifeless dolls. She is so angry. What kind of people make children kill each other? What kind of bastard is Zabuza?

She is approaching faster, not thinking about the distance advantage her weapon has, only thinking about how much she wants to break the beast in front of her. She wants to feel the demon's insides with her hands and taste his heart as she crushes it in her jaws. A group of wickedly sharp kunai sail through the air and she lashes out an arm, fist curled tight around metal. The chain responds to her like an extra limb and sweeps away from her target, the links knocking the knives from the air. She follows through, twisting like a whirlpool and catching the beginning of the other half with her the back of her right ankle and kicking it towards him, the length of metal sliding over her leg. She hears the sound of ringing metal from somewhere far away inside her head.

Then the two forces meet, and his sword is falling fast, as if to cut her in half. Her right foot finally plants itself and the other is already sweeping back up, the back of her calf smashing into his forearms and redirecting the blow to her side, his powerful arms moving again. The blade turns in his grasp, and sweeps from below, towards her hip, but her feet leave the floor altogether. Her left leg arcs above his head and her hand shoots out, dropping part of the meteor hammer and tangling itself it his hair and pulling hard to pull herself up. She wishes she could grind his face into the ground.

His two hands still hold the blade and are lifting it higher, arms straight out, but her torso dives in the gap it creates near his chest and her left leg lands on his shoulder just as her right slides down to the opposite side. Her ankles lock and her knees press tight as her thighs choke him. The momentum of her swinging weight causes him to slip in a pool of coagulating blood and fall on his ass, her chain falling around them.

They are on the ground, grappling amongst the the dead, and fury courses through her veins. What fucked up kind of situation is this? How could she have been _so fucking stupid_? She should have saved them, fuck, dammit. The shitty exams should have never existed in the first place!

One of Zabuza's arms lets go of the blade and wraps tight around her long, high ponytail. She can hear a grunt, and can tell the barbed wire inside of it has pierced his callused palm, but he still manages to yank her head back, exposing her neck to his sharp, quickly advancing tachi. She moves with his pull, arching her back and planting her hands, the fist full of chain landing in blood, the other on the shredded leg of a dead child. Her hold loosens and Zabuza slips out, gasping as he slides forward. His need for air feeds something dark inside of Ryuishi.

Her legs swing upward from the impromptu backbend and point to the ceiling, intent on turning it into an impromptu back hand spring, but Ryuishi is not quick enough. A hot line stretches across her lower back, from her right hip down to her left thigh.

She cries out and the acrobatics move falters. Somewhere inside, far away, part of her thinks she deserves it. That she deserves more than a single slash.

(_The carcasses of children watch her, accusation in their blank, glassy eyes._)

Instead of a clean plant, her feet tumble to the ground and she is left on all fours, Zabuza already advancing, jabbing his blade at her. She snarls, filled with grief, and pushes off from something slick and yielding with her legs, driving herself underneath his attack, tackling him and driving her shoulder into his gut. He slides back and a pommel arcs toward her head, but she is sliding around, her head now near the base of his spine. Her free hand is scrabbling on his thigh, and the one fisted around her weapon is full of sliding chain links, waiting for a bladed end.

His hand reaches around and finds her head just as her hand finds the gash on his thigh, and they both attempt to maim as much as possible. Zabuza tries to pull her forward by her hair again, ignoring how the barbed wire is ruining his palms, but she simply sinks her teeth into the blood soaked skin of his lower back, desperate to wound him and just so _angry_. Her fingers pull at the edge of his leg wound, and her hand slips, her nails gouging out bits of flesh. He roars and she feels the sloppy jerk of his body, and a sharp, intense pain in her lower leg that fills her entire being. He has pinned her right calf to the ground with his sword.

She shrieks with a full mouth and attempts to rip the muscle off his bone with her teeth and hand like a hyena on a carcass. Her other hand finally grasps the blade at the end of her chain and she plunges it into the part of his back that is by her head, aiming for his kidney.

She can't stop thinking about how fucked up this all is. How much she wishes it wasn't happening. How angry and hurt she is, how everyone is _deaddeaddead_ and it is all her fault.

Zabuza stumbles forward, and she finally succeeds in ripping a part of flesh off in her mouth. Her hand is torn away from his leg, crushed in a much stronger grasp before it is flung away. The boy whirls to face her, a blade still in his back, trailing chains. She spits the chunk of him in his face. In retaliation he tears the tachi out of her leg and she wails, loud and sharp, as the agony fills her.

Ryuishi _hates_ him.

She pulls the chain in her hand, and the weighted blade in his back falls free, and he echoes the sound falling to his knees not a foot away. They both lock eyes again, and in that moment she thinks she has never wanted to hurt someone more and not at all at the same time.

They lunge at the same time. His fist smashes into her face, and hers smashes into his groin, and they both tumble to opposite sides. Ryuishi rolls till she slams into something soft and lukewarm. Her eyes are shut from the blow and she is distantly aware that her body is in humongous amounts of pain. She is far away, and she knows that she's going to bleed out, but Zabuza took her knife to the kidney and wouldn't last long either.

She doesn't want to get up. She wants to cry for a century, and smash Kiri to the ground. She wants to end the life of every man and woman that allowed this to go on. She wants to wail and scream and hurt everybody who hurt her. But...but..

She has to make sure. She needs...she needs to see.

She needs to finish this.

When she opens her eyes, they are looking into the swollen, blank gaze of a little boy who is missing the lower half of his face. His tongue lolls out, hanging down his ruined cheek and touching the crimson covered floor. She chokes on another gross sob and lets the storm inside her heart fuel her, letting rage and grief power her shaking arms as she pushes herself up. Getting to her legs is even harder, and they beg her not to move, but a hundred pairs of dead little eyes stare accusingly at her, and she cannot ignore them.

Her eyes lock on Zabuza's huffing form twenty feet away, and she stumbles across the carnage. Halfway there, she bends to pick up the sharp end of her weapon, listening to the ghostly rattles of the chain that trails behind her as she doggedly drags it with her. The fallen form draws nearer, until she is standing over him, his determined eyes glaring up at her crying face.

_He looks so small,_ she thinks. _So small and pale_. He is shivering in the cold room like he never has before. She belatedly realizes that its the blood loss. _Funny_, she thinks, _that his blood blends just fine with everyone else's. That his body is just as small as the rest of them._

And then it hits her, and the rage flees her body. Shame takes its place.

Zabuza _is_ small. Zabuza is just a child, a mentally ill child. He was never taught any better. In fact, Kirigakure directly encouraged him to do this, to be violent and bloodthirsty and cruel. He was never told his aggression was too much. Nobody ever explained why the other kids didn't work like him, didn't think like him. He never got encouragement unless he earned it through violence or bloodshed.

It was she who should have known better. The moods, the violent outburst, the disregard for others. Zabuza was a textbook case of Antisocial Personality Disorder, and she should have seen it a mile away. She should have helped him, found another way. She was a grown woman, and she was too busy playing around to realize that _Zabuza was a child who needed help_, not an adult.

She sinks to her knees, and the chain clatters to the floor. If she dies here and now, she deserves it. She could have, should have, will be better. The children who lay dead around her deserved better. The boy in front of her deserves better. Better than Kiri and bloody graduation exams.

Better than her.

Ryuishi hiccups, and swallows, her hand sweeping up her face to wipe the tears and blood of her face. She only succeeds in smearing it around, and her nose is dripping. The wet drops that fell from her eyes like rain turn into a river. The little boy in front of her is pale and sweaty, but he looks shocked.

"I'm sorry," she rasps out. Zabuza looks like has never been more confounded in his life.

(_He is just a little boy_.)

"I should have helped you," she whispers, and she can see confusion in Zabuza's eyes. He doesn't understand. He doesn't get that she is sorry, so sorry. He doesn't know that what he has done is unforgivable, that his actions are monstrous. Violence and slaughter are the only thing Kiri has ever taught him.

He allows her trembling hand to reach out and clasp his shoulders, and the adrenaline and rage is running out. All she can feel is guilt and grief, and she can't stop crying. She feels weak and faint, and her body hurts _so much_. He is sitting up, and she can feel herself swaying where she sits. The broken bones of innocents surround them, and their cadavers condemn her. She should have been better. Zabuza was never a monster. He was just another little boy, another victim of the Bloody Mist's twisted designs.

"I-I should h-have been here," she whimpers, and Zabuza is reaching a hand out, and she is falling forward. She collapses into his chest, his slow and labored breaths filling her ears.

She weeps into the boy's bloodied skin, full of mourning and grief, mumbling apologies over and over again. He wraps his arm around her, and together they stand up in a graveyard full of children's remains.

"I'm sorry," she whispers again. Sorry she lost herself. Sorry that she forgot. Sorry she couldn't run faster. Sorry she didn't read the signs. Sorry she never taught him how to communicate. Sorry that she failed to save a single life, make a single change. Sorry she wasn't strong enough. Sorry her own mind was broken into pieces.

Sorry that in the end, they are both just fucked up people.

* * *

><p>Shinobi converge on them not long after, and though they are shocked and frightened, they are also impressed. He can see the two chunin who instruct their class watching them with knowing eyes. He can barely hear 'Demon' being said, because he is too tired and too in pain.<p>

Zabuza holds Ryuishi steady with bloody, torn hands while simultaneously using her as a crutch. The adults surround them, and more are traipsing through the door, carefully checking the bodies surrounding them for any sign of life.

He is sure there will be none. The only one who survived his wrath is in his arms.

He knew, somewhere, there had been teachers watching, evaluating. They were originally there for the graduate fights, but he had made them evaluate him instead. He had made them watch as he cut down those older than him, those who supposedly had more skill. His opponents had been nothing but jokes, and he took their lives without remorse. He was mad, mad that they would be seen as better tools. Mad that they would seen as his betters, and he had set out to prove just how good he was. There wasn't a thought in his mind about what it would mean later. The only thought that filled him was the thought of proving himself. He would take them all on, not just a one on one fight, but rather all at once. That would show them how much better he was, how much more deserving. And he had succeeded.

He had shown the instructors how good he was with every stroke of his sword and every liter of blood he spilled. Every one he killed was another reason for them to watch him, to look at him. See how good he was? See how much control he had? He was ready for the next step, not these other chumps. Then she had come, and the watchers got to see a real fight.

He didn't understand what had made her so angry, he only knew she was. After the pathetic show the others had given him, he was more than ready to face her. Only…

When he looked up, she had been crying. She had looked over the bodies of the useless, weak tools that surrounded them, and wept bitter tears. She had screamed with such ferocity, such sorrow, it had stunned him. He had answered in kind, feeling the need to respond. It had been awesome, a clash of forces. Zabuza had been excited, because he could feel her killing intent permeate the air, and he had felt it mingle with his own demonic chakra. Together, they had resonated. They had found harmony in death and destruction. He had never before fought her like this.

It had been intense. She would hold nothing back, and he had realized it the moment they had bellowed together. It had been a song that filled his ears in that moment. He was sure one of them would lie dead before the sun hit its peak.

Ryuishi had cut his leg deep, and it would scar. He would wear that mark for the rest of his life, just like the one on his back. She had been an animal, using tooth and claw to wound him. As slippery as a snake, she had closed the distance and diminished the power of his blows. She moved like water and struck him to the ground, not once, but twice, unafraid to take cheap shots that might have seemed unhonorable. He had returned the favor, and he was sure that the deep slash that ran down her hip, over her buttock to the opposite leg would mark her forever as his tool. The one he would shine brightest with, the one that would help him show the world his true strength.

It had been a fierce fight, and he had been glad. When he had taken the stab to the kidney and then the bite and then the final dirty shot to the manhood, he had been pleased. If he died, it would be worth it. Ryuishi had finally shed her liar's skin and shown him what he wanted to see. When she stood over him, her face screwed up and ugly with tears, blade in hand, he had been ready for one last struggle.

He had not been prepared for apologies.

Her whispered words had been so unexpected it shook him from his bloodlust like nothing had ever done before. He just couldn't understand! Why was she crying? Why was she upset? Why wasn't she killing him? Why did she reach out and touch him without pain?

(Could she see him?)

Then she had collapsed and he had instinctively gone to catch her, like all times he had in sparring sessions. He had held her, awkward and confused while she cried. Ryuishi, the girl who had been so close to killing him, the boy who took out every child in the school, had cried. Crying was against the shinobi rules, but she had done it all the way through the fight and still kept up with him, still came inches away from ending him. She was still hiding her face in his shoulder. He had seen the monster from the alley while they fought, and he had held it in his in his arms as it wept.

Looking down at the girl at his side, he still does not understand, but he feels….warm.

He doesn't know what she meant when she said she should have helped him. He knows that it wasn't about the massacre, knows that somehow the sight of their dead classmates wounded her. He is still wondering why she apologized.

But… the words are still… something.

Nice? Maybe. He doesn't know.

Zabuza thinks on it while they are rushed to a hospital. He doesn't know what the words are for, or what they are meant to do. He doesn't understand her. He doesn't understand how she can be a monster in a little girl's skin, and then a little girl wearing a monster's skin. He doesn't get why she laughs or feeds him spicy food if it gets her hurt or why she constantly provokes him.

He didn't think it mattered. Now he wants to know.

His eyelids are heavy and he feels tired, even before the anesthetic sets in and the warmth of Iyro ninjutsu settles over his back. His tool is laying across from him, a group hovered over her calf, shying away and mumbling together. They will fix his tool, he knows. They will mend that cracks he has given her.

It is the last thing he sees before unconsciousness takes him.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:So Massacre. What we learn here is that Ryuishi is awful at remembering details, and has a thing for kids. We also learn that she is shite when it comes to dealing with stress. And the author needs to work on writing fight scenes.<strong>

**It is also important to note that Zabuza is mentally ill. Like, textbook mentally ill. It does not excuse his actions, rather explains them. What excuses them to an extent is that he is nine and raised in a fucked up culture.**

**Other stuff...uhm, sorry for the rough start. As always, a big shout out to my beta, the hate child, and the warning that when it rains, it pours, especially in Kiri!**


	13. Meeting the Aftermath

I do not own Naruto.

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><p>Watanabe Ryuishi wakes up with a screech in her throat and a half forgotten night terror still playing out in her mind.<p>

_There are broken bodies lying shattered on the cold concrete ground. The air smells like blood, bile, feces, and tears. There must be a hundred bodies, but they all have the same two faces. One is Zabuza's, another is a sister who isn't in this world_._ "You should have known, you should be better. You let this happen." The Void, empty and eternal, nothingness stretching out forever._

Her mouth is dry and sour, like she threw up in her sleep, and the bed beneath her doesn't feel like the hard fuuton in her half of the room at the Okiya. She feels out of breath, and shoves all thoughts down somewhere deep inside her. She doesn't want to think. She hasn't forgotten her failure.

Her coal black eyes gaze curiously around her new surroundings. It seems like a generic hospital room.

She died in a room that looked like this, once.

The thought startles her into waking up a bit more. She is disjointed and groggy in the mornings, even more so in unfamiliar surroundings. Her back feels stiff and her calf is sore. The hospital has that clean, stuffy smell that seems generic to all health care facilities. The bed is soft, even if the blankets are thin and the pillow is plasticy. Her hair is loose around her and she is lying flat on her back. The bright fluorescent lights are so different than she has seen around the buildings in Kiri, so much brighter, that they make the room seem alien.

Like… it belongs in her old world.

She pushes those thoughts down and shoves them in with the others, the ones full of failure and dead children. She doesn't have an outlet at the moment, and though she knows it is unhealthy, bottling it up is all she can do for now.

She breathes in deep, a long, drawn out inhale that fills her lungs to the point of painful. She holds it.

She wants to get so drunk, she is still intoxicated the next day and she can't remember the night before. She wants to fuck somebody and come so hard she forgets her own name. She wants to get so high her body feels like an abstract four dimensional concept. She wants to fight until she gets knocked out. She wants to eat an entire buffets worth of food. She wants to watch funny Youtube videos. She wants to take a ride on her motorcycle until the scenery is new and the sun is setting.

She exhales, forcing the air out in a rush.

She is seven, and she can do none of that. Well, she could probably find a drug dealer who would sell to her but she really wouldn't trust the product they gave her. Plus, she had been clean years before she even ended up in this world. As fucked up as things were, she really would never go back. The idea of being blitzed out of her head sounds good though.

The pastel mint green curtain beside her slides open with a quick clacking sound and the motion catches her eyes, interrupting her fond reminiscing of amphetamine abuse. Too lazy to sit up, she looks at the newcomer out of the corner of her eyes. Zabuza is sitting up in his bed, sheets pushed around his ankles, wearing nothing but hospital pajama pants and a shining new hitai ite. He is grinning maniacally.

"Wha—?"

Something hits her in the face.

Ryuishi just lays there and inhales slowly. She lets a long, loud groan fill the air as her small hand scrabbles up to grasp whatever is lying on her face. She can feel fabric and metal and when she takes it off her eyes, she is staring at four squiggly lines stamped into steel. She feels sick.

This was bought with the blood of fucking babies.

_Little tiny bodies with broken limbs, lying torn up and shredded. Glassy eyes that are empty and accusing—_

She puts a cap on it again, and turns to the boy, who already has his tied haphazardly in his spiky hair. In the anime and manga it looked cool. In real life he looks like a fucking slob.

"Why?" she grumbles out, sluggishly rolling onto her stomach and stuffing her face into her pillow. It's scratchy and smells like cleaner.

"They said you put on a good show, even if you didn't kill a classmate." He mulls for a moment and continues, "Probably only because I got there first." He's totally serious about it too, like it's an okay thing to just admit to. It makes her blood boil, but she breathes deep and reminds herself that he has no idea how fucked up everything that happened was.

Then she screams into her pillow.

"Why are you doing that?" Zabuza asks in his grunty, deadpan, little boy way.

Ryuishi pauses, and turns to look at him. Or, at least tries to. Her long hair is in the way, and it takes a few seconds to blow it out of her face. When she does get a clear view, she inspects the boy through narrowed eyes. Zabuza never asks her anything, except for food, but even that comes out as a demand.

"Because I feel overwhelmed with emotions," she says slowly, and just a bit sarcastically.

The sarcasm flies right over Zabuza's head and he just grunts and traces his fingers over the metal plate in his hair. As if receiving that filthy, disgusting symbol made him overwhelmed with emotions.

It was like… like he was empathizing? No, no, not empathizing. Studying? Trying to understand?

Ryuishi doesn't know. She adds this to the long list of things she has no clue about. Things she has a hard time caring about right now.

She feels filthy and gritty, and her mouth tastes like liver and bile. The paper gown she has on is scratchy and to thin. The lights are murder to her eyes. She is shaken and unstable, she can't get her fucking thoughts in order. She needs a switch, a change, a new perspective. If she keeps up like this, she's going to have another breakdown. She can just feel it rushing up on her like a rogue wave.

She breathes deep again.

Little goals, she needs to set some little goals. Alright.

Get up, take a shower, do her hair, brush her teeth. Find food. Live, move forward, because that is all she can do.

She shifts, turning to climb out of bed. A pile of her clothes is set out on the table, unwashed and covered with flaky, gritty dried blood. It doesn't show up so much on the dark material of her cargo pants, but it is there.

She can smell it.

She mentally jots down 'burn clothes' and 'cry a little' to the list of things to do.

She shifts, and sweeps her hair over her shoulder, turning her back to Zabuza and the boy speaks up again.

"What's on your back?" he asks, this time like he is actually mildly curious. For a moment, she is thrown. What is on her back? The new scar she can feel? Is it a bug? Oh shit, fuck, she hopes it's not a bug. Kiri has to know that bedbugs in the hospital are bad news right?

Oh, wait. Zabuza has never seen her bare back before. She has tattoos.

He also hasn't seen her hair down before. Why couldn't he comment on that? Maybe he was being not socially reprehensible for once, and ignoring the fact that her butt was showing. She could feel the draft. Ah, a psychopathic child has seen her seven year old ass. That's a thing to jot down on her life's resume.

"Uh… what's it look like?" she asks, dodging his questions and reaching out for her clothes. The faster she can get dressed, the faster she can leave and take a shower.

"Animals. Snake bones." he grunts out.

She rolls her eyes. Always so chatty, that one.

"Then that's what it is." she answers. Man, he sure asked a lot of questions. Two of them in one day! That was more than he had asked the whole year before! Exciting changes, this stuff.

She crams her underwear and pants on, unable to bring out any shame at being seen naked. She's seven, and frankly, she never did care anyway. Zabuza's much too young to start being creepy and hormonal, so it's safe.

She slides her turtleneck on and cringes at the feel of it against her skin. It's stiff and gross, and she's pretty sure that it has smears of partially digested shit from popped intestines on it. She snags her brand new hitai ite and crams it in her pocket, casting one last glance at Zabuza.

"I'll meet you tomorrow at dawn. Come to the kitchens at Kagami's brothel," she says, stiff legged as she leaves.

* * *

><p>At the Okiya, she is drowning in pitiful looks cast from a distance. It has only been a short time, but already everyone knows of the massacre. Keiko sweeps her up in her arms the moment she announces her presence, and squeezes her tight. The woman may be somewhat neglectful as a mother, but she fits the older sibling cast well. The smell of her cinnamon robes and the feel of her arms around her makes something inside Ryuishi settle down.<p>

"I'm back," she whispers, clutching tight to her mothers robes.

Keiko lets out the daintiest sniff she has ever heard in her life, and squeezes tighter. They stay like that for a while, just holding each other, pleased to be alive. When Ryuishi declares she needs a shower, Keiko plants one last kiss on her forehead and lets her down.

She passes by Kagami Okaa-sama on the way back from picking out her clothes. The matron looks at her with a stern twinkle in her eyes, and to the newly minted kunoichi's surprise, grows a steely, yet fond smile.

"I always knew you were lucky," she says before sweeping away in a flow of silken robes.

She doesn't feel lucky. Not in the least.

When Ryuishi finally, finally makes it to the shower, all she can feel is distance. The stress is finally there, and she feels like she isn't in her body anymore. She rinses off the grime, blood, and sweat from her skin and she thinks.

Tomorrow, she starts life as a genin.

Genin in Water Country are not assigned instructors, or teams. Teamwork is the underlying training in Konoha, not Kiri. In the the bloody mist, you look out only for yourself, and the training for that begins young. You train by yourself, you get better by yourself, and if you are lucky, you catch the attention of a chunin or jounin to who will show you more, by yourself.

It explained why so many of their ninja went rogue. Besides having traumatic teachings and twisted schools, shinobi and kunoichi of the Mist relied on only their own strength to support themselves, and often grew isolated from others. There were no friends to keep you tied down and stable, and the system did little to inspire loyalty to the village. If you were already only looking out for number one, why stick with a village if you could get better paying work outside of it? If you could get past the Hunter nin who stayed inside Water Country, you were safe. Thus, high numbers of nuke nin and mercenaries.

Sometimes, if the new graduates were siblings, or very good friends, they worked together to survive. It wasn't rare, but it also wasn't the norm. By offering to meet Zabuza tomorrow, she had, once again, extended the proverbial hand. She had felt the need.

Zabuza was just a kid. A kid who wasn't neurotypical, who didn't understand compassion or empathy or social protocol. He was mentally unsound and his behavior was violent and rash and borderline suicidal. Taking on a hundred kids could have just as easily gotten him killed instead of recognized.

If she was right, and that was tentative, because psychology was a field that was hard to prove empirically, then Zabuza had Antisocial Personality Disorder in a world that actively encouraged the self destruction it led to.

He didn't see people as people. To him those children were nothing more than a mouse, or a piece of paper. They had attributes, and he recognized them as objects with distinct uses, but couldn't make that leap to living, breathing, sentient human being.

He might not even see himself as one.

Looking back on it, she realized that the only way Zabuza communicated was through fighting. In situations where he might have been happy, sad, angry, confused, or lonely he sought her out and they proceeded to beat the ever living shit out of each other. She would have to slowly stop that. She would have to provide an outlet, and make him use his words. She would have to help him learn to communicate in other ways, and try and find balance.

The thought overwhelmed her.

Ryuishi could barely balance out her own psyche, and she couldn't help anybody who didn't want to change. She could only offer options, and that ruined her.

She needed to help him, to help them. To help the kids and babies of this fucked up, shitty world. She needed to see them happy and stable and healthy. She needed to do it, because—

(She thinks of curly dark hair and freckles dusted over a thin nose. A happy, smiling face and every sport under the sun. She thinks of her sister, and her mother, and father and brothers. She thinks of _deaddeaddead_ little bodies, ruined forever, their futures ripped from them too early. She thinks of _failurefailurefailure_.)

The hot water sliding off of her gets a little bit saltier as Ryuishi cries.

When she gets out and dresses, she feels…. better. Emptier, hollow, but back in her own body again. She eats dinner under the apprehensive looks of the girls in the Okiya. Keiko moms her a bit more than usual, but it feels friendly instead of forced. She goes to do her stretches, brushes her teeth, and meditates.

Her head is a wreck, and the others inside are more alive than usual, but already they are working on fixing things up. The angry, hungry, yelling part of herself is quieter for the moment, as if sated after being fed. She hates that she feels so content after what has happened. She hates that part of her, the one that is so calm right now. She hates herself most of all.

She sleeps without dreaming.

The next morning, she gets up, showers again, fixes her hair, and begins to prepare breakfast for herself and Zabuza. Just as she is finishing up the meal the door at the end of the kitchen slides open and the boy is there, wearing no shirt, new pants, and the tachi he used for the massacre on his back. He looks like a miniature version of his older self, minus the arm warmers.

They share a simple breakfast of rice, rolled omelets and pickled vegetables in silence. Well, mostly silence.

"Don't pick the vegetables off your plate you bastard, eat it all."

"Don't tell me what to do, brat."

He eats half, and leaves the rest. She shrugs. Better than nothing.

Their shared teacher is away on a mission, and the two quickly agree that they can do d-ranks without his help. The duo walks through the the early morning streets in quiet. The traders are glaring fearfully from their stalls and she can hear the whispers already. She stands close to Zabuza, making sure their shoulders touch. She does this not only to soak up the warmth he gives off and keep the chill of the winter day away, but to provide a united front.

"Look at that little demon. The whole school, gone!"

"—monster, not even human—"

"—his pet, only one that—"

"—heard the little witch—"

Oh, oh god. Are they? Are they calling her a witch? Because she might be okay with that. That sounds, like, super cool. Hopefully witch catches on better than pet. She can only pray.

When they reach the missions office, her cheeks are red from the biting cold, and though highly inappropriate, she thinks Zabuza's nipples might be able to cut through glass. The warmth of the office is welcoming, and they go up, unafraid to take their first mission. The chunin in charge sneers down at them, handing over a mission file.

"So the demon shows his face, dragging his little pet behind," and dammit, that's not what she wanted to hear. "That was quite the show you put on, brat."

She can see Zabuza stiffening, his mania turning into rage. Ryuishi snatches up the file and wraps her arm around the boys beside her.

"Thank you for the mission sir." She chirps, high and sweet, turning them both around, "Have a nice day!" The '_I hope you choke on a literal bag of dicks.' _goes unsaid.

Abandoning the warmth and traipsing both in the cold, she looks over the mission. Clearing the village walls of wildlife. Great.

Zabuza looks at the arm that is still wrapped around his, shakes it off, and just glares at her. She can see his anger at her, at the chunin, his confusion at being touched. She heads it off.

"Hey, you ever heard the story of the A-team?" she asks, heading toward the east gate.

Ryuishi manages to distract him the whole way there by telling him the story of the illustrious group of shinobi, wrongly accused of betraying their village, who became Nuke Nin and soldiers of fortune. Named the A-team because of their penchant for taking only A-rank missions or higher. By the time they arrived, he had forgotten to be angry. She counted it as a success. She wishes that Konoha D-ranks and Kiri D-ranks were similar. She wouldn't mind babysitting or walking dogs, but nobody has money for that in Kiri. Instead you get sent out to kill dangerous animals, usually alone.

Soon, the pair are elbow deep in really pissed off boars and mangy wild dogs. Zabuza looks like he's having the time of his life, like he cannot believe he is actually getting paid to do this. Ryuishi is trying very, very hard not to get her outfit dirty. Call her a priss if you want, but she is sick and tired of blood on her clothes. She is a mid range fighter for fuck's sake. She was supposed to be pretty and deadly… from a distance. They get through the whole wall, and she feels a little like she just finished grinding on an old RPG.

The duo goes to the training ground after turning in their mission papers and collecting their pay. There is still a good amount of daylight, and they cannot afford to waste it.

This is how it goes on for weeks. They take a mission, finish it, and train. Each meal they share and each mission they take is a quiet reassurance that they will not abandon each other for the dog eat dog world that is Kiri. There still is a certain lack of positive emotions and friendly qualities, but they understand each other. They understand that they work best as a pair, that their teamwork is as good as it gets in Kirigakure. When one slips up, the other is there to cover their back. When one sleeps, the other is awake, keeping watch. When one is wounded, the other is their with bandages and sutures.

It is a slow, steady understanding, more of a business agreement than companionship, but it works. It is safe, it is comfortable. It's better for them both to keep up a quiet, amicable distance. Ryuishi watches over him, makes sure he eats his vegetables and receives positive human contact, waiting for the moment he wants to speak. Zabuza makes her get up in the morning and train until she can't move, not allowing her to wallow in guilt or stagnate in strength. There is…contentment.

Then, the Third Shinobi War begins.

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><p><strong>AN: And it pours, because life isn't fair. Here we see some changes beginning to occur in Ryuishi's character, which will become more obvious in later chapters. Her mood swings and mindset changes are a little more obvious and so is her emotional repression. She starts trying not to think so hard, not look to deeply at what this place is doing to her psyche, and she hates the way she is slowly turning to ignorance and violence to conform.<strong>

**Zabuza is showing some curiosity, which makes him a little more vocal.**

**In other news, I will be going to an upcoming con in about a week, so I may have some trouble updating I will attempt to be consistent, it's just a warning. As always, a thank you to my beta, Enbi, and to all those who read and reviewed.**


	14. Meeting your Squad

I do not own Naruto.

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><p>The Third Shinobi War had no single start date. There was no single wrong or mistake that lit the flame. There was no one assassination, no singular fuck up, no budding nationalism or racial tension. It was nothing like the world wars that she had known from her past.<p>

For a long, long time the Elemental countries had been skirmishing back and forth, edging in on each other's jobs and territories. Poached missions and sabotage abounded for years before Ryuishi had even been born. If you wanted to pinpoint the time it had all began, one only had to look back to the Second Shinobi War. From then, it had been a cold war between the five great countries. Nobody trusted each other and if you looked like you had a single weak link, one small lapse in defense, your neighbors would tear at until it bled out.

The day it had been announced that Kirigakure would begin waging war, Ryuishi and Zabuza had stood at the base of the the Mizukage tower with the rest of the village. She had listened to the words meant to inspire, words meant to uplift. She had seen the civilians' eyes glaze over, and she had been filled with dread.

All active forces were to report to the mission's office by the next morning.

Zabuza was grinning by her side, grinning like the cat that ate the canary as they walked home, and she could feel his energy levels like electricity against her skin. He was quiet, but ominously so, head filled with the glory of battle. They split up at the Okiya like they usually did, and watching him go, she felt something inside her heart die.

Ryuishi slid the door to the brothel open, and Kagami looked down at her with understanding and pity in her gaze. Dinner with Keiko had been filled with dread and silence, and that night, the brothel had never been busier. It seemed everyone wanted one last piece of ass before they died. Lying in her fuuton and ignoring the noises from below, she thought she could reach out and touch the desperation that lingered in the air.

War.

In the life before this, she had seven brothers. Each one spent at least four years in the service. Three of them had gone overseas for tours of duty. Three of them returned with haunted eyes and grim faces, the laughter lines bleached from their faces and replaced with wrinkles on their brows. They woke up in cold sweats and stayed up all night. Loud pops and whistles had sent them rolling and ducking. They drank until the point of oblivion and murmured the names of the dead as they slept.

Three of her brothers had gone to war, and when they came back home, three strangers had taken their place.

War was something her family had both loved and hated. Her father had served in war, and her mother had been born as her family ran from it. Her father's father had served, and both of her mother's parents had fought for their home country. In her past life, she could trace her lineage back for ages, and every single one of her ancestors had been a soldier, a pilot, a captain, a warrior. Battle was in her blood.

Her whole past life she had been raised with the understanding that war was a terrible and frightful thing. Her father told her it brought out the best and worst in people. He told her that war was a giant, impossibly large thing. That it was like a force of nature, and like a tsunami or earthquake, there would be no stopping it. That she could only prepare. That is why she had so many skills in survival and tactics, why she blended in so well with this world.

In both lives she had been born to be a fighter, and only in one would she see the battlefield.

That night, she slept, and she dreamed of strangers in her brothers' bodies. She saw them walk in her old home, and use their voices and words, but in their eyes there was something awful and inconceivable to her. The light was gone, and she only saw the Void, endless and eternal, calling her back.

The dawn came and a weary Keiko woke her. For a moment it looked like she wanted to snatch her up and hide her away, but Ryuishi placed her hand on the woman's and met her eyes.

There would be no running from this.

Quietly, Keiko started weeping, and she moves toward the shower, pretending not to hear. She luxuriates longer than normal under the hot spray of water, knowing that where she goes, she will miss this. The calm and sensual nature of the Okiya, the cinnamon of Keiko's robes, the feeling of being clean.

She packs her bag, making sure to fill it with extra food and gear. Ryuishi takes special care with a jar full of black, wrapping it in a shirt. She takes extra time with her morning stretches and eats her fill of grilled fish and rice before making sure her meteor hammer slides instead of clinking, it is oiled so well. Her hitai-ate is tied firmly around her right bicep, displaying her false loyalty for all to see.

Before she leaves she sits down in front of the mirror and memorizes her face. The laugh lines, the length of her lashes, the fullness of her hair. She traces the curve of her cheek and the hollow of her throat. She wants to remember Watanabe Ryuishi. She wants to think back and know the person that she was, like she knew Cat Frank before her. She wants to remember them.

Then, she picks up a single steel pin, and twists her long hair around it, pulling her length into a bun that lies close to her head. The way she used to do in her old life.

When she goes, it will be Ryuishi and Cat that march away from their home, and if they survive, they will not be the same people who left.

Zabuza is already impatiently waiting by the kitchen door, an empty plate in front of him. Kagami and Keiko are crowding the exit, and he stands just behind them. Ryuishi looks up at the steely Matron, and the woman returns her stare. There is no pity or condensation this time, only understanding. She is not in active duty anymore, but she remembers. Keiko swoops down like a bird and clutches her close for a moment, and the girl melts into her hold. She has never felt so close to the woman.

"Thank you for being my mom, Keiko." Ryuishi whispers for the first time in her life, acknowledging the woman's place as more than birth giver.

Then she is pulling away, past the crowd of girls and into the gloomy morning, to stand beside her fellow shinobi.

The early morning streets are fuller than usual. All around the duo people are tumbling out of brothels and homes, trudging towards the same destination with gritted teeth and determined eyes. The cylindrical silhouette of the missions office stands ominously ahead, outlined by the gold and purple morning light. Like wraiths they move through the mists, each shadow a silent figure, gliding onwards to their uncertain future.

Ryuishi wants to babble, to talk and let out some of her nervous energy, but to break the silence seems taboo. This is the calm before the storm, the quiet before the chaos. So instead of running her mouth, she shuffles closer to the boy at her side, who is buzzing with energy. Absorbing his warmth is comforting and familiar, and she can feel the furnace of his torso at her back. She reminds herself that this is the one she is going to protect, this is the one she has to stick by.

They make it to the building, and there is a crowd around them, spilling out of the doors. She is too short to see over them. The silence is broken here and chattering fills the air as people receive their orders and ponder who they will be with or what they will be doing. They wait for what seems like hours until they reach the same chunin that handed them their first mission, only he is looking grimmer than before. They give their registration numbers, and he tells them to meet their squadron by the north gate. Ryuishi thanks her lucky stars that Kiri had enough sense not to split them up. The missions they did together so efficiently must really stand out.

The duo nods and accepts their orders before splitting away from the mob and heading towards the rest of their group. They reach the plaza in front of the imposing gate, and she cries out in joy when she spies a familiar shade of blue with a new looking chuunin vest. Zabuza tenses when she snatches up his wrist and drags them over.

"Hoshigaki-senpai! Hoshigaki-senpai!" Ryuishi shouts, her husky voice carrying over the mumbles of the motley crew that has begun to gather.

A scowling face whips toward the noise, beady eyes searching for the caller. When he settles on the short, black haired brat racing toward him, boy in tow, he closes his eyes and makes an exasperated face. Good to see he remembers her.

"Hoshigaki-senpai!" she chirps once more, her heart suddenly feeling much, much more confident in what is happening, "Are you part of squad eleven?"

Any hope of escaping the foul mouthed child shrivels up and dies inside of him, and Ryuishi receives her answer in the form of a pained groan and a head turned heavenwards, as if asking for guidance.

She beams. "That's fucking great news!"

Cracking an eye open he glances down her, a grimace twisting his lips. "Well if it isn't the weak stomached little brat." he says, a taunting lilt to his voice.

"Now that's just mean, Hoshigaki. We both know that your strike caused me to lose my lunch. I'll have you know I usually never throw up." she banters back.

"No, you vomit very easily." Zabuza grunts out, blunt as ever.

She turns to Zabuza, bewildered. When had he even—? Oh, she dragged him here, right. She releases his wrists and scowls at him as he glares at her, rubbing the red skin near his hand to return blood flow.

"When? When did I throw up?" she demands, affronted at the accusation.

"Last year when we had to run in class and you had just eaten the hard eggs you had in your pocket. Eight months ago when you got hit by the Yuki kid. Seven months ago when you drank milk. Six months ago you first tried using genjutsu. Four months ago when you drank milk. Two months ago when you insisted on burning the remains of the dogs and pigs. Last week when you drank milk."

Ryuishi lets out an indignant huff and turns away from the blank faced boy to complain to the young teenager, only the blue hued teenager is laughing, loudly. Tears gather in the corners of his eyes as she watches.

"W-why do you keep drinking milk?" he chokes out, clutching his stomach.

Ryuishi looks abashed, her face flushing, and looks at her sandaled feet. She kicks the concrete a few times. "It tastes good," she mumbles. Kisame laughs harder.

Feeling ashamed, she is glad she lied. She's not sure she could live it down if she had told him that she forgets that she can't consume dairy. At least Zabuza had the decency not to tell him about the time she vomited on herself a few months back when they were passing through the butchers market and she saw maggots.

Kisame collects himself and breathes hard, and she remembers her manners. "Hoshigaki-senpai, this is Zabuza, apprentice to the wielder of Kubikiribocho. Zabuza, this is Hoshigaki Kisame, apprentice to the wielder of Samehada."

Zabuza grunts, and Kisame nods his head in greeting. They eye each other speculatively. Then, the older of the two looks back at her, curious.

"How did you rope this one in, brat?" he asks.

Ryuishi tsks at him and crosses her arms. "I'll have you know that he sought me out, you dick."

He swats the side of her head for the insult, and fuck! That really smarts. She clutches her head and smooths a hand over her hair to make sure it lies flat. Kisame rolls his eyes at the vanity of it, but turns back to the spiky haired youth in front of him.

"So? What is she to you?"

Zabuza grins and turns to examine the preening girl.

"She is my tool." he answers and Ryuishi answers with an instinctive "Fuck you, I ain't nobody's tool!" and receives another swat, this time from Zabuza. She hunches on the ground, clutching her head and whimpering under her breath.

Kisame eyes their antics speculatively, darting between the duo. "I guess she needs a little more sharpening," he comments.

Zabuza nods, then holds up a single finger to the larger boy, as if asking him to wait and watch. Then, he stretches an open hand in front of the whining girl, and she looks at it for a few seconds before digging into one of her numerous pockets and placing a wrapped bundle in his hand.

"Jeez, I thought you already ate, you pig." she grumbles, standing up.

A blue palm is shoved in front of her face directly after and she bristles, but digs through her pants and forks over another wrapped okonomiyaki.

"I'm not a vending machine you pricks!"

But the two ignore her and enjoy the savory treat, not even bothering to look at her. The shark man raises his brow and give the smaller boy an appreciative nod. His next words are spoken through a mouthful of food.

"I guess she is pretty useful."

Eventually, squadron eleven gathers at the north gate. It is comprised of six genin, three chunin, and a single jounin who will oversee their groups. Their job is to run guard supplies, check the traps, maintain outposts and, in this case, set up some of the meaner traps that will act as a deterrent. Their current assignment is to make rounds in the northern sector of Water Country and is slotted to last three weeks before they return to the village, where they will have three days off to recuperate, then head out again.

The genin are split up evenly under a chunin. The other four genin are older by a few years, the oldest being at least fourteen. They are split into teams under their allotted chunin, two under an aspiring traps specialist and two under a long range fighter, if the arsenal of throwing weapons are anything to go by. Unsurprisingly, she and Zabuza are slotted off under Kisame's command as a frontal assault team. This decision causes her a small amount of stress. They do know she uses a mid range weapon and genjutsu, right?

They set out at mid morning, making their way around to the edge of the main island, which only takes about a day and a half, but the whole squad is buzzing with tension. Kisame sets them up in a wedge formation and they follow directly to the right of the jounin, who goes by Suikami. To the left is the long range unit, and behind trails the traps specialists.

There aren't many trees that allow for branch hopping in water country, and instead, the squad flits through the fog like a murder of crows. The silence of the group is deafening. They are complete strangers thrust together in order to serve. They have no history, no drills run together or time spent learning. They are individuals clever and strong enough to survive Kiri alone, and now they are squished together and expected to work.

The pace they set is steady and not to fast, but Ryuishi has some difficulty keeping it. Her legs are far shorter than anyone else's, and it shows. When the camp is being set, as punishment for being a child, Kisame puts her on dinner duty. Secretly, she thinks he's just being sexist. Luckily, she expected sexism and is always carrying food.

The units splinter into their groups, each chunin getting to know their new underlings and the jonin wandering in between them. There are no fires, and their voices are hushed whispers in the night.

Kisame is perched on a boulder that is half sunken in the ground, and Zabuza is sitting with his legs crossed beside him. Digging into her calf pockets, Ryuishi manages to procure six onigiri that she had taken from the freezer this morning. She hands two to each boy, and Kisame looks mildly appalled at their existence.

"How much food do you have on you right now?" he asks, curiosity lining his voice.

Ryuishi ponders for a moment as she squeezes in between the two, shivering from the cold. When she settles down, arm around Zabuza's shoulders and legs stretched across Kisame's lap for optimal warmth absorption, she answers.

"Not including supplies in my pack? A pound of dried fruit, half a pound of dried meat, at least fourteen ounces of various candies and some trail mix."

"Really?"

"Really really."

"That's ridiculous, why do you have so much food?" he asks, bewildered even as he takes a bite of his rice ball, letting out a pleased hum at the shrimp inside.

Her eyes slide over to look at Zabuza, who has already finished both of his and is glaring at her. As if she is going to hand him more—the kid already ate most of her jerky during the journey here. She's convinced he's a black fucking hole. Looking back at the teenager as she bites into her own, savoring the tuna inside, she shrugs.

"I guess it's just habit."

They wash their teeth and bunk down, Kisame being assigned middle watch for the night. He is still awake when Zabuza sets out a single bedroll and climbs in, and he watches with keen eyes as Ryuishi removes the pin in her hair, braids it, and goes to follow him inside the cocoon. When she slips inside, snug against her homicidal heater, he quirks a brow.

"Isn't it little inappropriate?"

She sighs. She forgot that some of the duo's usual system would seem odd from an outside perspective. "I'm seven, he's nine. I'll stop stealing his warmth when I wake up to a stiffy stabbing me in the thigh."

Kisame chokes on air and Zabuza seems confused. She doesn't even think the spiky boy has the first inkling about sex. Which is good, because then she couldn't use him as a furnace. As it stands, the ravages of puberty have yet to touch them. Yet.

She goes to sleep, feeling a little uneasy because of the strangers and weird environment, but secure in the knowledge that Kisame is as loyal as they come.

The next day, when they reach the ocean, Ryuishi's mood soars. When the others take to the surface, she follows the path the trap specialist took and heads below the surface, a pair of Gills between her teeth. Kisame doesn't seem to mind, and even looks a little amused.

Here, under the waves, she isn't at war, she isn't a child soldier. She is simply alive.

Her father must have been right, all oceans really do connect. The salty brine saps her heat and stings her eyes, and the rhythmic lull of the tide is so achingly familiar. It is the same, this ocean. The same from her memories, the same that first claimed her heart, the same as her home.

It is easier to keep up with the group this way. She has always been faster when traveling in water. They go slower the next few days, allowing the trapping unit to work their magic. The long range fighters keep an eye out, but for the next few week, they spot none.

By the time the group is ready to return, they are tired and the tension is almost gone. The units know their jobs within the squad and everybody has a better idea of what to do and who to go to for what. They aren't a smooth running machine like Konoha would produce, but they are isolated fighters secure inside the miniature community they have. The jonin, Suikami, even bullies Ryuishi into handing over a good share of her candies during their travels. The asshole.

By the time they are ready to return to the village, Ryuishi sleeps with Zabuza at one shoulder, and Kisame at the other.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: So, we begin to ease into the war and Kisame makes a comeback! Ryuishi is terrible at telling ages! The ball is begining to roll, and we are about to be in for a wild ride.<strong>

**A shout out to all those great readers who reviewed and read, and a blessing on the head of my Beta, Enbi. Reminder that the next chapter might be late due to an upcoming con.**


	15. Meeting the new Mundane

I do not own Naruto.

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><p>They never make it back to the village after their first mission. A messenger hawk finds them on a smaller landmass not to far from the main island.<p>

The walking arsenal spots it first, his hand going to a hooked kunai along his belts, and then Suikami is suddenly right there, at his side. Their leader's hazel eyes cut through the fog and flash dangerously at the pinprick shadow that looms far above them. Standing tense at Kisame's right, Ryuishi cannot see it even then. It is not until she hears the snapping of air against wings that she understands.

A beautiful, well groomed osprey glides over them, locking eyes with the leader of their squad before accepting something that no one else can see. The shadow of its wings spread out across the mist below as it circles lower, like the phantom spirit from some old forgotten world. A scroll falls from its talons and rushes through the sky in freefall. It tumbles for only a few seconds before being snatched from the air by the jonin, who sets them in diamond position around him with a hand signal.

The graceful predator flits silently back into the gloom.

Ryuishi can see the jonin's grim face from the corners of her eyes, his lips turned downward as his eyes dart around the paper. He runs a single hand through his scruffy brown hair and sighs, the scroll crinkling in his grasp. No good news then.

More hand signs, and they make a diamond formation as a squad, pointing to the west. Each unit copies it in miniature. Suikami is on point, and her unit takes up the rear this time, allowing for greater protection for the squad as whole rather than the more aggressive position from before.

They move on his signal, maintaining silence. There is no question that they will be gone longer than expected, and that these new orders are nothing good. The squad does not show a single sign of it, but she can sense the morale drop. Still, nobody questions the commander. That would be insubordination, and for Kiri nin, the consequences of that are nothing good.

Tired from the previous month of hard travel and disappointed at the way things seem to be going, they begin to head west.

They travel for days, and still nobody knows what they are doing except the jonin. Supplies that were running low before are now gone completely. They would have lasted back to the village, but the new orders have set them off pace. At night it takes longer for them to set up camp because they are tired and hungry. The group is worn and it is showing. They want showers and warm food, perhaps even a full night's rest, but out here such things are impossible. Only a single month into this war and already its forces are doubling up on missions.

Ryuishi finally earns a spot outside of the unit, sharing some of the extra food she brought with her. It is only a few sacks of rations that require water to be edible, but it is more than the nothing they had before. They only last a few days among such a large number of people, and they are awful and bland. Those few days buy her time though, until they can reach water, where she takes it a step further, foraging from the land.

They reach the ocean once more, and fires are still out of the question, but she manages. Sending another prayer of thanks to her father, she uses her skill in the water for its original purpose, spearing a good sized flounder in the shallower waters with the bladed end of her weapon. When she drags it up, a few grimace, but she spies decidedly happy grins on both Kisame and Zabuza, who are happy for fresh meat, no matter the source. Impressed, Suikami makes it official and orders her to scrounge up what she can until the group can restock. Later that night a few balk at the idea of eating freshly gathered wakame and raw fish, but more of them are grateful.

The waters are cold enough that she doesn't worry too much about toxic algae, but she does make sure to check for parasites when she fillets the cleaned fish. The jonin claims at least half of one of the flat, ugly creatures before absconding away. She has no doubt the older ninja on this team could have done exactly what she did. She guesses that they just wanted to avoid getting into the cold water in the first place.

Ryuishi can think of no place she'd rather be.

In the gloom of the night, when she is braiding her loose hair and preparing to slide in next to her heater, she is surprised by a large hand resting on her shoulder. Looking up, she catches the tail end of an appreciative nod from a certain blue chunin. She returns it, and climbing in next to Zabuza, who is grumbling about her cold extremities, she feels more content than usual.

Two days later, after a week of travel, their squad comes across a town. It is one of the major waypoints for Mist shinobi, as it lies only a few days of hard travel from the front lines. Something cold and hollow settles in her gut as they approach, and she doesn't think it is out of dread. It feels familiar and empty.

Suikami splits them up into units and tells them to secure the perimeter of the settlement. To her, it is obvious that the mission has something to do with someone in this place, but she is currently too apathetic to be curious, and she silently follows orders.

Entering the town, she can feel the anger and despair, and looking around, she can guess why. The place looks like it had been nice, once upon a time. Now it is rundown and tired. The buildings look like they have recently seen a battle or two. The walls are pitted with dents that indicate thrown weapons, and one of the outlying walls looks like it took exploding tag or jutsu damage. There are a few hastily cobbled roofs and more than one tarped up building. She can see derisive looks being cast at them, and most of its citizens look like they are experiencing rationing for the first time in their lives. They have nothing on the gaunt and worn faces of the orphans she knows, but their clothes are dirty, and their eyes speak of new hunger.

This place is dangerous, she decides. Nothing is as dangerous as the privileged being forced from their lifestyle.

They walk the streets with a grace that no civilian holds, and blaming eyes land on them. Especially on the blue skin and exotic features of her unit leader. Kisame stares around them in a sort of trance, eyes taking in the scenery around them, the mothers shielding their children from his gaze. Ryuishi wonders why he looks like he has been smacked in the face with a rubber dildo.

Then it hits her. Well, not the metaphorical dildo, but rather an epiphany. Kisame was an orphan, yes, but he wasn't a nameless one. She doesn't know who his parents were, or what they did. She does know that he has been living under the supervision of Fuguki, one of the legendary seven swordsmen, for a long time. That meant he was raised in one of the orphanages, then probably stationed in the barracks district. Both are much nicer than the akasen from which she and Zabuza hail.

He probably only ever saw the lowlife of Kirigakure from a distance in the market or trade district, and even then rarely. They know better than to show themselves so blatantly there, just doing so is asking for a beating from a vendor or a bored ninja. Nobody would look at him too hard in the places he was raised because of the fearsome appearance of Mist forces in general. Hell, next to his teacher, he looks downright normal. Even Ryuishi forgets he looks different most of the time.

Here though, here he is an anomaly for the first time. Here he can see the suffering that Mist puts its people through up close. It is in the glares of the men and bruises of the women. It is in the hungry, lethargic demeanor of the children. Almost everyone seems to blame their misfortune on them, if the whispers are anything to go by. Technically, they aren't even wrong. The shinobi system _did_ do this.

Monitoring the mass that seems to be gathering around their unit, she feels apprehensive. There is nothing good that comes out of angry and abused people. Amongst the crowd, she can see it in their eyes, the need for a scapegoat. It is a certain light that dances in the hazel, green, blue, grey and golden eyes.

Ryuishi's head swivels around, suddenly nauseous. She is looking so desperately for that pair of eyes that she almost doesn't notice the first object being thrown.

"Freak!" one of them calls, hurling a pebble. It is slow and easily caught before it strikes Zabuza, but it seems to be the spark that the others need to find their rebellious courage. The three instinctively huddle closer together as debris is hurtled at them.

"Monster! Go back to your snobby clan and leave us alone!" a woman's voice screeches, mistaking the orphan shinobi for something he is not. Ryuishi bats another pebble away from the bandaged face boy, who is staring at her, arms crossed, not lifting a damn finger. The bastard seems to enjoy watching her do his work for him. She strikes down few stones in rapid succession after shooting him a glare. This is probably another one of those 'You're my tool, you do it' things.

The stones are getting bigger, fist sized, and somebody is mixing glass into the equation. She is almost having to work to throw them at the ground instead of the people. Not the she would hit them. Her throwing aim is still crap. Kisame is just standing there behind her, tense as stone. As if he is absolutely stunned that Kiri's citizens could be angry at the government system that repeatedly forces them into poverty and death. He looks—dare she say it—_hurt_ at the people's words.

"Demon! Murderer!" a man shouts somewhere to her left, and fuck, that one was totally glass.

"Blue skinned devil!" cries a smaller, younger voice, and Kisame literally flinches, but the crowd is growing, drawing more and more in. Everybody wants to vent out their frustrations, and they do make a convenient scapegoat. The objects are actually a little hard to sweep from the air with her hands and feet, but she refuses to draw a weapon against righteously pissed people without training.

"Whore!" and hey now, she's seven. Come on, that seems like a little much.

"Just do us a favor and die!"

This is getting out hand. There are too many of them, throwing way too much. They're picking debris from the street, anything they can get their hands on. Pieces of shattered walls and broken windows. There's even some blunted, warped weapons in the mix, leftovers from whatever happened here before. Her unit is being useless, and she can't stop them all.

No sooner than the thought crosses her mind does she spot something definitely not thrown by a civilian. It's mixed in with a hail of glass and stones, heading right for the nape of Kisame's neck, fast.

Ryuishi leaps on instinct, just as the chunin whirls. A single thought flits across her mind:

_Oh, sonofabitch, this is dumb._

He turns just in time to see a kunai fly in between her outstretched fingers and slide into her collar. It's thrown with such force it knocks her back midair, into his chest, which is like a brick wall. She would be impressed with the way he caught her but God! Lord above in the heavens! Spirits of her fucking ancestors, that hurts like a bitch!

Zabuza seems to snap out of whatever dickery he was doing before and draws the tachi on his back, snarling at the crowd, who seem stunned that she even got hit. She is too, a little bit. It was going to happen eventually, but she never thought it would be like this. It never even occurred to her that the first wound she would receive in war would be in a little village full of civilians. Still though, her ego is content that this knife was not thrown by one of them. She didn't get owned by a noob. It would be reassuring if it didn't hurt like the goddamn dickens.

She's clutching her hand tight around the base of the wound, where the kunai is still jutting out like a very painful signpost from the ground. Only the ground is her collar, and the metaphor sucks in general. It doesn't really start gushing until she removes the knife with a wail and shoves it in her leg pocket before the others can see. Kisame is gripping her other shoulder tight with his free hand and turning her whole body to face him, his eyes darting around for the culprit. She feels tiny in his grasp. The teenager is fucking enormous, and she guesses that this is what dwarves feel like. Or children. Wait, she is a child.

Zabuza is taking threatening steps forward, as if slaughtering them all would fix the fact that his tool got hurt. The silence is deafening, save for her occasional, very called for whimper. Ryuishi catches her team's attention with a hand to Kisame's arm, her dark eyes meeting his. He focuses on her face, then her wound, then her face again, looking confused.

"They're just scared, Hoshigaki-senpai." she tells him.

"But–"

"Let's just finish securing the perimeter and meet back with the squad. I think the long range chunin guy knows some iryo jutsu."

Anger flashes across his face at the seeming injustice of it. She smiles sardonically at him, tilting her brows and swallowing what a big baby she is for a moment. "It's only a little cut. I'm sure it's not the worst that will happen to me."

He looks like he's about to argue some more, but she plays the card she knows is closest to his heart.

"Orders come first, Hoshigaki-san." she whispers, looking out at the walls yet to be checked.

His hands tighten on her shoulders and his arm squeezes around her ribs for a second. Then he nods and places her back on the ground and motions at Zabuza, who looks pissed, but heeds the order. She stumbles for a second before peeking back up at the crowd. They are white faced and stricken, waiting on the retribution from the trio. She looks around for a moment, searching while her hand places pressure on the wound. Hazel, green, blue eyes on tanned and greyish skin. None of them are right. She narrows her eyes and attempts to see farther. There, in the distance, she finds a face watching her a little too keenly, and she smiles at it, sly and sweet. Her free hand sends a message, patting her pocket.

"I know." it says.

A warning. An invitation.

* * *

><p>A high, keening noise sounds out of the dark haired girl's throat as they settle in for the night at a local inn. Which is surprising, because she thought that they were attempting to keep a low profile. Actually, she doesn't give a flying fuck.<p>

Completing the assignment with a stab wound was probably the dumbest thing she has done in a while. Scratch that, jumping up was the dumbest thing. Kisame was already turning to catch it by the time she leapt. He would have caught it. Or dodged. It would have happened. Afterall, he was alive far past this in canon. Her pain was stupid and pointless. The thought did not help her collarbone hurt less, though.

She collapses on the bed in the room her unit is given the moment she walks through the door and screams into the threadbare pillow.

"Are you feeling overwhelmed by emotions again?" Zabuza asks blankly, stepping through the door.

If she didn't know him, she would think that asshole was making a joke. Good thing she does know better, because the idea of the spiky haired boy being a having a sense of humor scares her a little.

She turns her face and cold, squinting black eyes glare at him. "Eat a thousand dicks and die." she hisses through clenched teeth.

He grunts and flips her a dirty hand sign before entering the bathroom. She recognizes it from the gestures that the whores use in the akasen to pick up johns and make crude japes with each other. Something like Kiri's secret dirty sign language.

She… should have never taught Zabuza that.

"No, you blow yourself!" she shouts at the empty doorway, "And give me some of your stupid bandages!"

A sigh from the entrance to the room lets her know that Kisame has come back from the debriefing with Suikami. He must be so proud of the genin under his command.

"I have bandages in my pack," he tells her in an exasperated voice.

"Good," she spits, "Zabuza's will probably infect me with disgusting face syndrome, WHICH HE HAS!"

A warm, wet towel flies from the bathroom and it would have smacked her face, if it hadn't been for her reflexes. The movement jars her injury and she lets out a keening noise. Kisame ruffles through his pack and fishes out a clean roll of bandages, rolling his eyes. he hadn't known what to expect from his first genin team, but it certainly wasn't this. Not a deranged little boy with blood lust that might exceed his own. Certainly not the foul mouthed little girl that vomited on him a year and a half ago.

He looks at the whining little girl on the bed, clenching his fingers around gauze. She is changing before him as time goes on. Undergoing some sort of transformation into something he hasn't seen before.

The little kimono clad liar he met that day isn't the same as the bleeding kunoichi sitting before him now. That little girl didn't know how to properly dodge a sword, let alone bat a flurry of projectiles out of the air. The brat isn't even the same as the one from the beginning of the mission, desperate and scared, clinging to a familiar face.

This girl took a kunai for a commander on instinct alone, and insisted on completing the mission. This one protected both boys at her side, without a single thought of leaving them on their own. This one looks at them with something like fondness in her eyes, accepting them as they are. She is as loud and brash and crude as before, but she is caring and loyal too. He sees it in the small actions she takes. The way she doesn't give raw vegetables to the bandaged faced brat, because he doesn't like them. How she made sure he got the shrimp onigiri when there was some to give, because she noticed he ate them quicker than the others. The way she makes conversation possible at night, taunting and teasing until all three are bickering in whispered voices, scrunched close to throw an elbow or jab if one steps over the line. He wonders what she will end up being at the end of this change, and how many of her faces he will see on the way there.

He stands, bandages in hand and turns to her, watching her struggle as she attempts to pull her arm from and opening in the shirt.

"Let me help," he offers.

"Trying to get my shirt off I see. I always knew it would come to this." she remarks, smirking at him, a hand still trying to retract through fabric by sheer force of will.

Kisame regret his earlier thoughts. He doesn't want to see anything this brat has to offer. Too much cheek, not enough common sense.

Still, she did take a hit for him.

He sighs, exasperated, and leans over her, gripping the hem of her shirt with his free hand and pulling it. It gives her just enough space to wriggle free from the garment. He flings the ruined cloth to the side and purposefully locks eyes with her.

"You are seven," he tells her, "And disgusting."

She squawks at the insult and places her hand over her heart. "I am a damn queen, and you should be fucking honored that you're even allowed to touch me." she answers, nose in the air, voice haughty.

Zabuza snorts from the bathroom. She ignores him.

"You can call me queen bee, because all the honey's love me." she continues.

"That doesn't even make any sense," Kisame says, snatching the wet towel from her hand and beginning to clean up the skin around the wound, "You must be delusional from blood loss."

"You must be the delusional one, because even shitstain like Zabuza can see—MOTHERFUCKER!"

Kisame gives her a grin and presses the pinkening towel a little harder to her collar.

"Gotta make sure it's clean when the medic comes back, don't we?"

"Fuck you, you arrogant cum stained—aaAGHHH!"

He grits his teeth this time, and there is a warning in his eyes. Ryuishi, in a fit of wisdom, keeps her mouth occupied with wails and shrieks of pain instead of insults.

Zabuza finally emerges from his place in the bathroom, carrying an armload of warm, wet towel. Literally an armload. Kisame shoots him a speculative glance.

"Why did you…" he trails off.

The boy just grunts and walks over, shoving the wet mess at the teenager and gesturing his head at the girl on the bed. Kisame stares at them for a moment before giving the kid the most done face Ryuishi has ever seen.

"We only need one."

Zabuza grunts in acknowledgment, and in a fit of genius, simply lets the dripping, soggy mess drop to the floor in a pile before heading to the other side of the bed and lying down on it. He looks like he's going to take a nap. Ryuishi cackles at his actions, then yelps as Kisame gets back to work.

No, he didn't know what to expect from his first genin assignment, but it wasn't this.

The long range specialist comes in later that night and gives a half assed attempt at fixing her shoulder. It looks much better, and the wound is nowhere near as deep, but the feeling of chakra invading her had been awful. She hated every fucking second of it, and judging by the shivers and glances the man kept sending her, he hated it too.

So, stiff jointed and still aching, Ryuishi had stumbled into the shower, washed herself in the luke warm drizzle, and bemoaned her fate as she dressed in her old pants and a new shirt. She bitched a bit more to her two companions and ate a meal before falling asleep on the opposite side of the bed that Zabuza already rested in. Only to wake hours later, a pressing urge to piss guiding her into the restroom.

Silently she shifts out of the sheets to relieve herself, taking special care as she untangles herself from Zabuza's clinging hands. She is quiet like a mouse as she glides across the inn's wooden floors and enters the cold tile room. She is washing her hands when she notices it.

High in the bathroom window, a serpent is flicking its forked tongue in the night air. Jesus H. Christ, she hopes that a summoner cannot see through their summon's eyes. Wait, snakes have terrible eyesight. That's a relief, because that would have been very, very weird. Unless ninja snakes are different. She hopes not.

Ryuishi is glad she prepared beforehand this time, and unpacks the kunai from her pants pocket. It is Konoha standard issue, easy to identify because of it's lack of an extra side guard. It would be easy for any Kiri native to spot the difference between the blades, even a civilian could do it. The knife was how she had known that it hadn't been a random person in the crowd who had injured her.

Carefully, she unwinds the cloth from around the handle and stretches it across the counter and looks around the bathroom for something to write with. Spotting nothing, she motions for the serpent to wait a moment and quietly darts back into the room, returning with a pen that had been on the dresser near the lamps.

A pen. A fucking honest to god felt tipped pen. What she wouldn't have given to have one of these four years ago. She hates this world, more than ever. Seriously, fuck them and their dainty ass calligraphy brushes. She's keeping this after they leave. She is never going to let go of it again.

She uncaps it and scrawls a message across the material before wrapping it back around the blade. The snake in the window gazes at her with the cold eyes of a reptile as she approaches and opens its mouth wide, exposing two very sharp fangs.

Ryuishi places the kunai in its mouth lengthwise and watches as it slithers out of her admittedly limited view. She can only hope she hasn't made a giant mistake.

Tired, she leave the room and crawls back under the blankets. Only, when she flips around to view the wall, Kisame's apparently reflective fucking eyes are watching her. Panicked, she blurts out the first thing that comes to mind.

"I wouldn't go in the bathroom till morning if I was you." she whispers.

The eyes blink. "You're disgusting." comes the soft reply.

"Yah, probably, but you're my friend anyway." she tells him, flipping around and drawing the blankets up.

The fact that he does not deny it makes her smile as her lids close.

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><p><strong>AN: This is a rough chapter, and I must have gone over it a billion times. Here we see, 1) Ryuishi's fondness for her boys. 2) team bonding 3) introduction of sub plot important to the main plot 4)so much other shit. Like I said. Rough.<strong>

**Okay, this con has me tuckered out! A thanks to my beta enbi and all those who continuously review, and those who lurk and read!**


	16. Meeting the Monsters

I do not own Naruto. Trigger warnings for gore.

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><p>Ryuishi never did figure out what the actual assignment for her squad was. They hung around for a few days and left, and that was it. There were no signs of enemies or allies the whole time. No goods to move, no wounded to escort back, no shipments to guard. It seems to her that they were only stationed in the town to keep up an intimidating shinobi presence, which might be more accurate than she wants. On day five, they journey back to the village, and she never sees that town again.<p>

The whole squad receives three days of rest, as promised before the double up. Ryuishi does not go back to the Okiya. She doesn't want to be that person who is there one day and gone another. Ryuishi does not want the Keiko to have to constantly acknowledge the fact that one day, she may not see her daughter wandering the wooden halls or cooking in the kitchens. That one day, her daughter might be gone and she will never know exactly how or why, and there might not be enough of her for a funeral.

If she survives this war, she will come back to Keiko and Kagami, but until then, she will not meet with them. It would be to hard to slide back into the comfort of her fuuton and the familiarity of her routine. She would want to never wander out again. It would be harder still to make the others watch as she grows more and more distant, constantly fretting over her next assignment and the battlefront, barely acknowledging their existence.

She knows what it is like to watch from the sidelines. She will not do that to them.

So, she confines herself within the barracks and the market districts, never looking back to the akasen. For three days she removes herself from her traveling companions and relishes in the feel of warm showers and clean clothes. The ability to take a piss in an actual toilet delights her, almost as much as toilet paper. She uses the pay from the missions she and Zabuza took previously to restock supplies and buy extra food rations. Most of the time though, she sleeps, happy to escape her reality for just a few days.

The next mission lasts another month, a supply run to a smaller medical outpost. It is a little more jarring than the first. They run into several groups of bandits formed of low level deserters and desperate civilians. As the frontal assault unit of the squad, the trio is left to dispose of them while the others watch. Ryuishi shoves her disgust at the others watching to the back of her mind, with the pity for the bandits. She buries them both with the other things she likes to not think about, like whatever shivers inside her with pleasure when they execute the bandits.

The three aren't smooth when they fight and getting used to a third person is tricky for her and Zabuza, but there is a certain amount of trust that has already been established between them. It is hard not to establish a connection when you share meals with people every day and pool heat every night. By the time they journey out for their third mission, they are working together almost as well as an actual trained team.

Soon a fourth mission passes, then a fifth, and the eleventh squad has become a home away from home. There isn't a lot of love between them and everyone is rough around the edges, but they work. More than anything else, they work. Her squad becomes _hers_, and her unit even more so. The squad may warn her of incoming and keep watch at night, but it is her unit that is right there when a bandit's blade is rushing toward her. It is her unit that jokes with her and keeps her warm at night. They are her boys, and she is theirs.

* * *

><p>The squad's sixth mission together is drastically different from the first five. They travel to the outer islands, near the border of Konoha and Kumo to restock supplies in old outposts. It is further than they have ever gone before and much, much closer to the frontlines than Ryuishi feels comfortable with. The closer the squad gets, the more nervous she becomes.<p>

There is something hollow and empty in the air that she cannot describe with words. It pulls at the tendrils of something inside of her. The feeling pulses through the air erratically and without warning at all hours, and she hates the squirming that it causes inside of her. It knocks all thoughts from her head, and clouds her mind for minutes afterward. At nights she wakes up with a start and gapes up at the wild darkness between the stars. The emptiness is familiar to her and she wants to know why, but the things inside her head push her away, warning her not to look to closely.

_Ignore it_, they say. _Like all those other things._

She tries to listen, but it is beginning to fuck up her ability to work smoothly. Her stumbling is obvious, and she can feel how much her mind needs rest. At times her tongue feels heavy and thick, and she knows she had something to say, but can't remember what. Thoughts bounce around her head without logic, random and abrupt, causing obvious lulls in conversation. She is sure others are beginning to notice.

In all actuality, Kisame and Zabuza have been watching from the first time her muffled intake of breath woke them. After only two weeks of hard travel the girl had shot up, out of Zabuza's grasp, and craned her head back to stare at the sky, eyes blank. Kisame, who had been on watch, had locked his eyes on her mute form and even Zabuza had seemed a bit stunned.

It was eerie, the way she would sit so still and stare at the sky.

They watch the bags that grow under her eyes and the way her mind begins to drift more and more. They way that sometimes, she will stare at the darkness around them and curl in on herself, her usual loud voice silent and her dark eyes empty. Physically, she seems no more exhausted than the rest of the squad, who is weary from back to back missions. Yet, there is something distinctly… _off_.

They do not know what to think, and it is only at nights, so they say nothing and pretend not to know. They all have a job to do.

They travel until they come upon the farthest outpost to the north, a tiny island that could claim only one building to its name. As far as she knows, no one had been to this outpost since a little after the founding of Kirigakure itself, so she had no idea why they needed to check it now of all times. Well, blow back shinobi from the frontlines in Iwa and Kumo could use it, she supposed. Yet, they could also just not. That would make her job much easier. Everyone endorsing this war could also go blow themselves, because they were dirty douchebags. Especially the shitty Kage and daimyo. Man, _fuck_ them.

Ryuishi rubs her eyes with the back of her hand, staring at the blurry image of an ominous rocky island. The lack of sleep is starting to make her a real bitch, she thinks to herself.

The squad is quiet as usual as they progress forward, and for once, she thinks it is totally called for. This island reminds her of the Silent Hill games she used to play, all fog and sharp slate. It's creepy as fuck. Looking around the group, she can tell they feel the same.

The walking arsenal has his eyes narrowed in that weird way she has come to understand means he is funneling chakra to his eyes, and Suikami has them positioned in the back again, as if expecting danger.

The squad moves cautiously forward, carefully attempting not to shift the rocks under their feet or breath to loud. Ten pairs of eyes make constant sweeps around the environment, searching for anything out of place. Nothing is. Not even the shitty, run down, woodsy ass outpost, and _wow_ she is not looking forward to spending the night here. The building looks like the type of murder shack you would find in a B-movie horror flick, with peeling wood paneling and cracked stone walls. The windows are barred and the second story looks like it's about to collapse. She is half expecting a man in a hockey mask to greet them before she remembers that chainsaws do not exist in this world. The thought bums her out even further because chainsaw wielding ninja would be metal as fuck. Maybe someone could put kunai on a chain and spin it around real fast?

_God_, she needs some sleep.

Suikami holds up a fist, and the squad freezes behind him. He motions the trap squad upfront and directs them inside the outpost with a few gesture and a pointed finger. They enter and the rest of the squad waits in silence while they disarm some of the pitfalls that would have awaited them inside.

Ten minutes later, the orange haired chunin pokes his head outside and gives them the okay, and Ryuishi follows the lead of her boys and enters the murder shack, shaking and shivering from the cold. Almost immediately her unit begins to separate from the others, heading towards a darkened corner on the first floor. From there they will be able to keep a wall at their backs and their eyes on the entrances, which is helpful when their turn for watch comes up.

Ryuishi hunches down to yanki squat and hangs her head between her legs. She wants a cigarettes, even though she has never smoked in this body. It might help her mind wake up and raise her blood pressure a little. Doesn't matter if she's seven and it will ruin her lungs and cost her buttloads of money over the years. She just wants the comforting weight hanging off her lips and the acidic taste of smoke in her mouth.

"You look like you're taking a shit."

Ryuishi turns her head to squint up at Kisame. "You look like a piece of shit," she snarks back.

"And yet I still look better than you."

She sighs and hangs her head back down, closing her eyes and submerging herself in her tiredness. It becomes a bit harder to balance and she sways on her feet a bit but she manages to remain on her feet and not her ass, so she counts it as a success.

"You're totally right. I don't think I manage the dirty traveler look as well as you. But I bet you'll never look as good in a skirt as me."

Kisame snorts and sets his pack down next to hers before sliding down against the wall. Zabuza brings up the rear and plops down behind her, already digging through her bag for their meal. That boy could really care less as long as he gets fed. He doesn't look near as tired as the rest of them, the brat.

The bandage-faced brat manages to discover the side pocket on the inside of the bag and digs around inside of it until he finds whatever he is looking for. It turns out to be some of the cuttlefish jerky that the two boys enjoy, and he hands a fistful to Kisame and her without words while noticeably keeping the largest amount of meat.

Ryuishi gives him a pointed glare that he pretends not to notice. She groans and shifts her weight, letting her butt finally connect with the cold ground before twisting and reaching in the same pocket.

"Dammit Zabuza, people can't survive on protein alone, you ass."

"Says you," he grunts out, sweeping his eyes around the rest of the squads.

She pulls out the bag of mixed dried fruit and dutifully pours some into an outstretched blue hand before taking some for herself. Zabuza scoots away, anticipating the upcoming confrontation. Finishing up her portion, she slowly turns her eyes on the boy and begins their nightly ritual.

"Zabuza, eat your fruit," she orders, pulling another handful out of the bag.

He glares at her and Kisame sighs, exasperated. One by one the rest of the units in their squad turn their eyes on the trio to watch their evening entertainment. A few might even be gambling on the outcome of tonight's squabble.

"No."

She shifts closer and shoves the fist full of fruit under his nose, scowling when he turns his head to the side and purses his lips together.

"Zabuza. Second warning. Eat. Your. Fucking. Fruit."

Wisely remembering the incident last week, he shakes his head instead of answering.

Ryuishi narrows her eyes and advances on him. "Last chance, buttnugget, you better take it."

He still does not comply.

Ryuishi lunges and scrabbles for his face with one hand while attempting to dodge his fists. The boy really should just listen to her; it would be much easier for him. A balanced diet is essential in growing children and the amount of protein he consumes on not only deplete her rations faster than necessary, but also leaves little for her and Kisame. Mostly though, she thinks the mooch could at least pitch in if he wanted more meat, but whenever she tries to ask him, he is nowhere to be found. The douchebag seems to have developed a sixth sense when it comes to avoiding her nagging him about pooling cash. To bad that sense isn't there to help him avoid her forcing healthy(ish) eating habits on him though.

Tonight seems to be a bad one for their antics though, because she can hear Suikami groaning from where he stands, and she can feel the moment his disapproving gaze lands on them.

"Just eat the fruit kid, so we can get some silence fro—"

There is a line of red beading around Suikami's throat and the room goes very still, every breath held. Ryuishi watches in horror from her place next to Zabuza, and the light inside her field commander's eyes flickers and dims as the red line grows thicker. She feels that hollow, empty sensation, and finally knows why it is so familiar.

His head tilts forward, away from his body, off of his neck, and tumbles to the ground in a wet cracking sound. Arterial spray spurts out like a morbid fountain in rhythmic thumps.

The room bursts into action.

Behind her she can hear Kisame, already on his feet, barking orders at the two of them, setting them up in a wedge formation around him. Her body follows on autopilot and all the weariness drains away from her in a burst of adrenaline, but her mind is far, far away.

Her heartbeat is a steady, sluggish thump inside of her chest and her head is wrapped in a fog, but her eyes are unusually sharp and her reflexes keen. Another inside her has recognized the danger and taken the helm.

The trio huddles back to back as Kumo nin surround the squad and bottleneck them through the door, and one of the genin trap specialists tries to bolt, only to be cut down by a lightning jutsu. The chunin gathers the last close, but she can see a unit of enemies break off from the main group and flank them. They are not combat specialists, and they will not last long.

She doesn't know how many there are or what kind of specialties they have, she only knows that it is her unit's job to keep this outpost and protect the rest of squad from these ambushers, but it is not so easy.

They are outranked and outnumbered, and she isn't even sure if they will survive.

There is chaos as she and Zabuza follow Kisame's lead, aggressively making their way toward the long range unit near the window. If they can regroup, if they can just regroup—

A flash of bright light and a spray of kunai distracts the opponent that attempted to rush Kisame from behind long enough for Zabuza to cut him down, and she feels a hungry vacuum sucking him away. She wishes she didn't know, didn't remember, she wants to _forgetforgetforget_. If she does not acknowledge it, it will not be real. She has opened a door she cannot close again.

The group surges forward and the wall in front of them explodes, giving way to a steep slate cliffside and a precipitous drop into the open ocean. The walking arsenal leaps through the hole he has just created without a thought and his team follows behind him. Kisame pierces the woman in front of him with his sword and kicks her off the ends of the blade.

"Cover!" he shouts, and the three move as one, trusting in their chunin leader. Ryuishi sweeps wide with a swing of her meteor hammer, forcing the enemies to give them room and giving Zabuza enough time to flash through hand signs and fill the area with thick, heavy fog. Something grabs the back of the children's arms, and she almost tries to stab at them, but then they are rushing through the air, held tight in their leader's hands.

She can see Kumo nin pouring out of the opening after them, using chakra covered feet to run down the cliffs. They swarm out. Like ants, she thinks, disgusting, many legged, ants. She feels two more hollow shivers snake through her, and knows the trap specialists are no more. There is a lack of sound, and she can hear something begin to cry out.

The trio splash down, and the cold saltwater swallows them.

The boys desperately swim to the surface, causing rushes of bubbles and froth. She can see them coating their hands and feet in chakra to climb out. She can feel Zabuza's demonic chakra gathering around him and the pressure exerted by the sheer size of Kisame's coils being activated. Her own chakra is unnoticeable, hidden by these two these giants, and she slides her Gills out of her pocket and into her mouth. The will fight on the surface, and she will strike from the sea.

The Kumo ninja descend upon them and the air is filled with the sound of metal and jutsu.

To their left, the walking arsenal shouts something that becomes garbled and warped under the waves as the enemies surround him. They pace around him, circling him and his students. She can see the ripples that come from the rain of kunai and senbon, and she is impressed by the sheer amount of them entering the water, but she knows that they cannot last. One of his students breaks ranks and makes a run for it, trying to disappear in the mist.

She does not blame him for his cowardice. She wishes she could do the same.

More shouting from the man, and the ninja around him pounce. She sees them go down from the corner of her eye as she casts a nightmarish genjutsu on Kisame's opponent. Then she sees the ball of fire erupt from the pile, and she can feel the explosion's shock waves warp the liquid around her.

Only her unit remains.

So many deaths on the this little island, so close together. It saps her fire and drowns her strength, and the sting of the endless and eternal is swallowing her whole. The vacuum is calling out with its hollow, soundless voice and digging its numbing claws into her soul. It is dragging the tendrils of itself that she kept with her, always and forever, up to the surface and clenching them tight around her being.

_Remember me_, it intones, _Remember my touch, my taste, my sound_. _Remember being nothing_.

_Remember the Void._

She hadn't known that it would be like this, that she would feel it. That she would sense the savage hunger rip them from their bodies. Now…

Ryuishi can barely hold on, barely feel who she is. That ember she had clung so tightly to inside the nothingness is dimming and fading, heeding to the call of the Void. Somewhere, something inside of her is screaming endlessly at the dark. That angry, thrashing, roaring part of her is standing between the emptiness and her, lashing out and cutting. She only can remember faces, half remembered features that flash in and out of her head.

A smirk full of teeth like knives, a manic grin hidden behind white bandages. A smiling face with a dusting of freckles and curly brown hair.

Save them, love them, protect them.

_Protect Protect Protect._

Ryuishi moves through the salty water like a snake, twisting and whirling soundlessly beneath the waves. The muted ringing of metal on metal travels down from above, and bright red light burns for a moment, casting scarlet shadows into her world. She feels the cold wash of water around her, insulating her from the battle. The silhouettes of feet stand out above her, moving to an age old dance that sings of rages and violence.

She twists, and there is the muffled sound of clinking as her chain moves, it's weight offsetting her buoyancy for a single half second before she can right herself. Her tiny wrists are wrapped tight by the links, and bladed ends of her weapon lie just below her hands. Little fingers move with surprising quickness, molding chakra in her gut, then her hands, then to the body above.

Above her, a foot misses its step, faltering in the chaotic dance, and the water is blooming with a fresh splash of red. A body lands, and the ocean carries it, a dead, gaping face staring down at her from up high, judging her. She feels him go, feels the Void swallow him.

Two pairs of sandaled feet move, and she follows them, tearing her gaze away from the abyss that watches her through the corpse's eyes.

Already the feet are joined by more. Panic explodes in her heart. Behind them is a ghost, whose footsteps do not even ripple the water, and her chakra is running low, drained from the back to back missions. Desperation sings inside her and the ember of her soul glows brighter, fighting off the numbness.

She kicks her feet and grabs the end of her chain, exploding out of the surf like a missile. Her legs tuck tight to her chest and she plants her feet on the woman's torso with a snarl on her face. She can see the Kumo woman's surprise, her shock, just moments before her blade bites deep into the concave of her collar, plunging down into her heart. She feels the body shudder as her teeth sink into her soft neck. The woman falls back, and they both splash down below the surface once more.

Ryuishi never notices the bite of a kunai in her back.

More and more are converging, and she isn't as effective as she needs to be. She needs more. She needs it all, everything she has to give, just to stay alive. Find her boys, guard their backs, tear apart the intruders.

She climbs on the surface, hands chakra coated and grasping the rolling waves, her long bangs dripping and hanging limp around her face. Her heart sings for carnage, for retribution. There is venom in her eyes and ruin on her tongue. The thrashing, nameless beast inside her howls, and she lets the sound tear through the air.

Two identical roars sound behind her, and together, they scream in negation, in bloodlust and desperation.

_No_, they will not submit. Not here, not now. _You cannot take them_.

Chains rattle to life and whir in the air around her, a low hum filtering through the sounds of oblivion and battle. Another fire jutsu paints the world in bright oranges and reds, and the heat of it raises steam from the water below, but a funneling serpent of saltwater drowns it and pummels the Kumo shinobi down to the water. Her teammate with the manic grin is on them in seconds, carving flesh from bone in deft strokes of a steel blade.

Another, older man takes in the floating body of a comrade, and the disappearance of a woman. She sees the realization as he meets her eyes, the disbelief that a genin could do this. That a child could kill so cruelly. She laughs, broken and loud, in his stupid, smiling face. They are not ambushing children anymore. They already killed the ones this team had. There are no more people left alive on her squad.

Her unit is made of monsters, and they are going to eat these Kumo nin alive.

He seems to know that now, looking at her soaking wet and bloodstained figure. She rushes him, chain lashing out like a claw. He blocks it, but she expected him to. He cannot block the spray of salty water she kicks into the air and soaks him with to sting his eyes and blur his vision. People rely too much on their eyes.

She is going to pluck his from his skull.

Heartbeats and the tell tale crackle of a lightning jutsu gathering in his palms, one that will cut right through her and the shark beast behind her. She reaches out a fist behind her and tugs the boy's pants legs and they drop, letting go of the chakra beneath their feet. The ocean swallows them, and already she can feel her pack mate moving back towards his prey. She darts of under hers just as blue streaks through the air above them and even under the water she can feel the hair on her arm raise. She lets a loop of chain trail behind her and and propels herself out of the water once more, behind the scowling man. He turns and strikes out, but not down. She is short, and he is already dead.

The loop of chain rises with her and she tugs back hard on the ends of it, the length of metal catching him in the backs of his knees, tumbling him down. He isn't even in the water before she is on top of him, using the sharp weighted blades to cut up his face. He shrieks, loud and high, and she roars in his face as they go under the brine. His hands scrabble against the skin of her arms and his dig furrows deep into her flesh, but she cannot feel it. Her blood is singing, urging her on, and neither these gashes nor the knife in her ribs can stop her. She follows the weight of the chains down until he is no longer moving.

She makes sure to gouge out both his pretty, pretty amber eyes before she surfaces.

The air is misty and cold on her upper body, and as she whirls her head she sees her teammate with the snarling, manic grin scanning the mist for her. He finds her in the chaos and together they look towards their leader, who is still struggling with his prey. On impulse she flings her honey colored prize at the duo, but her aim does not strike true. Instead the amber orbs bounce off the chunin boy's chest and into the enemy, who catches sight of them and freezes. She hears them whisper a name and cackles because the man is gone, just like her squad, and can't hear the words so far beneath the waters surface.

Kisame takes the opening provided and drags his blade across their neck and the body falls comically slow. Blood mixes like ink in the water, and it highlights the slowly sinking spheres.

The blue man looks around them and locks eyes with his two genin. She sees the passion inside them, the surety and honest dedication behind the monsters mask.

She would follow this boy into hell.

His hand flashes to his mouth and slams against the surface of the waves. Smoke joins with mist and more numbers have been added to the hunting party.

"Ryuishi, you work with my summons and take them out from below. Stay close." he orders, swiping his blade downward through the air, sending more crimson droplets into the brine. "Zabuza, back to back. I want a rotating column formation."

The spiky haired boy grunts out in affirmation and jogs back to the blue boy's side, limping a little. When he draws close enough she spots a mass of burned flesh on his calf that makes her rage solidify into something deadly. Around her the shark summons are already circling anxiously, excited by the bloody waters. One of them swims off, scroll in its mouth, a last ditch effort to call for help. Snarling around her Gills, she joins the gigantic predators underwater and circles the two.

The fight goes on.

The unit moves like the tide, unrelenting and powerful. Each push forward brings them against more and more opponents, and they must step back. Kisame takes a stab to his shoulder before she can upset the balance of his opponent, and Zabuza seems to be littered with more and more bruises and burns as time goes on, but like her own with wounds, the two seemed to be too flooded with adrenaline to feel injuries.

She does not know how long this feeding frenzy lasts, because time means nothing to her in this state. It could have been minutes or hours, but all she knows is anger and desperation. All that floods through her is the fierce desire to protect her unit and avenge her squad. Lightning and water fill the night, and the sound of ringing steel sounds out through the heavy mists. It seems that no matter how many they take down, more come to take their place. Ryuishi heads the sharks behind her, flowing through the brine with ease, and Kisame and Zabuza continue to gain ground, step by step, sword swing by sword swing.

She does not remember the night ever finishing up, or the last person she kills. She does not remember Kisame's fierce roar or Zabuza's victorious cries.

What she remembers feeling is the weight of the world finally coming down on her shoulders, and the fogginess in her head growing thick and heavy. Ryuishi can vaguely recall the absolute deadness in her limbs and the screeching agony of saltwater in the gashes on her arms and the kunia stuck in her ribs.

She remembers not being able to crawl back out of the water, being so dizzy and hurt. She knows she tried to solidify chakra on her hands, but her chakra system had shrieked at her and sent needles and glass through her coils. Her eight gates had howled in protest and her arm had slipped right through the waves. Kisame and Zabuza, the chakra monsters that they are, had stumbled ahead of her while she gave up and let the tide carry her toward the small, rocky shore.

She remembers her heavy lids and the feeling of the ocean rocking her back and forth, the last touch of the summon's sandpaper skin against her hand before the water turned smoky.

Ryuishi knows that somehow she reached land, and the other two must have dragged her worn out seven year old body with them. She remembers the jagged stones catching on her soaking pants and the dulled rush of pain when one of them tore the kunai from her back and somebody tugging her shirt off to wrap her ribs and arms.

She remembers being cold, so, so cold, her fire gone and the Void calling out from all around her. Her breath coming shallow and quick, her mind heavy and confused. She remembers looking into the abyss around her, the one that cradled her for so long.

She remembers telling it, _Not yet. Not so soon_.

The next morning the trio never notices a three man unit making their way through the heavy mists. Zabuza never sees their expression turn grim as they see the floating, dismembered corpses that wear both Kumo and Kiri headbands. Kisame never spots them huddle together to whisper about how none from a logistics squad could have survived such an ambush. Ryuishi never spies their morbid expectations be broken as they find three children, sloppily bandaged and wounded, piled together, sleeping as if they had just eaten too big of a meal instead of fought their way out of hell. One of the unit shifts his stance and the sound of stones knocking together causes the one to finally wake.

Small, bleary eyes blink open and a hand grips tight on a sword. A predators smile stretches across blue cheeks.

"You're late." he rasps out, and two more sets of eyes squint open at the sound of his voice.

The jonin leader of the team shivers at the sight of those keen eyes, so bright and intent after such a vicious battle. _These are not children_, he thinks, _these are monsters_.

The Kirigakure no Kaijuu are born.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: The first real battle! Ambushed by Kumo nin and the last survivors, the monsters of the mist make their debut! Here we begin to see a bit of team dynamics again, the exasperated leader Kisame, the antisocial and domineering Zabuza and the creepy little shit Ryuishi. <strong>

**A big shout out to all of my reviewers, without whom I would lose hope with. Another shout out for all the lurkers who read, favorite and follow. I love you all.**

**The biggest hug to my lovely beta Enbi, who also has some great stories. She makes my work readable and helps me keep track of events I have planned so that you guys don't have to read a jumbled mess of shit. Seriously, I work them way to hard.**


	17. Meeting Medical leave

I do not own Naruto.

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><p>Leaning back against the obscenely decadent cushion of a certain chunin's bed, Ryuishi sighs. Her ribs hurt like a motherfucker, the bandages that circle her arms are itchy and stiff, but for the love of all that is righteous and holy, it is a bed. A real, honest to god bed, with a mattress and pillows and comforters and everything. She lets her head fall back against a cushion that must have cost at <em>least<em> a few missions pay and groans out in comfort.

"What are you doing?" asks a bland, rough voice from her left.

She looks over at the boy squished into her side, his broken and burned leg propped up in a cast beside her own, and gives him a contented smile. "A bed, Zabuza," she sighs out again.

"You have said that four times already," he tells her.

She rolls her eyes, smile still on her face, and ignores him as he shifts to face her right. Sitting up against a wall, shoulder and torso wrapped, is Kisame. An eyebrow is raised high on his brow as he looks at the two children who have come in uninvited and piled into his bed.

"A bed, Kisame. A real bed."

"I know. It's my bed," he says dryly.

She looks up at him with half lidded eyes, her hand poking out of the thick grey comforter to rest on his knee.

"Marry me," she tells him seriously.

She feels a jump to her left as Zabuza starts at the words. Probably because he doesn't understand human interaction, or jokes.

Kisame simply raises his other eyebrow. "Why would I ever do that?"

"So that your bed can become our bed."

"I have a bed," Zabuza's voice blurts out.

Kisame snorts and shoves her hand off of his knee, his look changing into one of fond exasperation. "No."

She covers her eyes with the now free hand and lets out a dramatic huff. "You're right. We're all too young. I am only seven, Zabuza is only ten, and you are fifteen. Wait for me, my bed."

"I'm eleven," he drawls out.

Her coal eyes open, and she cocks her head to look at him again, her arm dropping to the side. Suddenly, her every action seems inappropriate to the extreme. Her heartbeat picks up. "Seriously?"

"Yes."

"O-Oh. Oh fuck. Shit."

Both her hands come to cover eyes and she breathes deeply a few times, lying flat on her back. "Zabuza…. how old are you?" she asks quietly.

"Nine," he grunts out.

A strangled, high pitched whine escapes her throat and she digs her palms deeper into her eyes. "I'm an awful person. A child abuser. A horrible adult."

Kisame looks at the girl, who is definitely not an adult. She looks like she is undergoing extreme emotional duress. He observes her for a moment as she mumbles under her breath and then locks his eyes with the boy on her other side. The spiky haired child shrugs at him.

"Ryuishi… are you okay?" Kisame asks slowly.

The girl in front of him sniffs, and oh shit, he thinks she might be crying. This can't be good.

"I… I told you like, a thousand dirty jokes," she whispers.

The boys look at eachother again.

"I told you," she inhales sharply, "…I said stuff about boners. I thought you'd understand."

Kisame tells her, "I do understand."

"I don't," comes Zabuza's reply.

She sniffs again and something wet leaks out of her covered eyes. "I just asked you to marry me so we could share a bed."

"And I said no."

"I'm a pedophile," she answers, seeming aghast.

"You're seven. You can't be a pedophile."

Ryuishi whimpers and sniffs again. Kisame and Zabuza sit stock still, discomfited by the sound of her crying. The two look at each other, as if one of them will hold the answer to this problem. Both of them look distinctly uncomfortable, fidgeting in their spots as the tears continue.

Gently, making sure his movement is unnoticed by the girl, Kisame bring his hands up from the sheets and into view of the other boy. Surely, since Zabuza went to the academy with her, he will know what to do, right? His hands flash through some signs, asking the other child that same question. The other boy shakes his head in negation. Of course not, that brat was awful with social interaction.

_How attack?_, Kisame signs, and he really doesn't think that they were designed for this purpose, but they will have to make do.

The boy makes an effort to think about it, that much he can see. For a few moments he looks stumped, but then brightens and makes a few hand gestures that he is sure aren't Kiri sign standard. In fact, he thinks it's that awful sign language that Ryuishi taught him, the one he sees whores using. If he's right, then that kind of 'happy ending' is not going to work at all.

_Negative_, he signs back, eyes judging. He doesn't even think Zabuza knows what he just said.

Zabuza scowls and looks like he's thinking some more. The younger boy's brown eyes examine the girl before them before drifting back up to his meet his own. He shrugs again.

_Useless little brat_, Kisame thinks unkindly. He wishes this type of stuff was covered by his shishou. That would be helpful.

Okay, what had he seen parents do to children who cried? Sometimes they would smack then, but that seemed to be for a different kind of crying. Maybe… hugs? Was that it? He hoped so. He attempts to improvise a sign for this, and Zabuza looks at him blankly before copying the gesture. It looks a little like the signal for incapacitate, but surely he knows the difference. Kisame signs it once more and nods his head in affirmation.

Zabuza's hands stretch out towards Ryuishi's vulnerable neck.

Kisame starts and reaches out to push him back from their teammate, a scowl on his face. Is this kid mentally deficient? For Kiri's sake, he hopes not, but it isn't looking good.

Zabuza looks up at him, bewildered. It had seemed to him they had found a solution. A little rougher than some liked to approach things, he supposed, but he thought he had it right. Apparently not.

The two boys lean back and look at eachother again, lost.

Carefully, as if considering the things that Ryuishi seems to enjoy, Zabuza lifts up his hand. He signs, _Rations?_ And yes, of course! How could Kisame not see it before? Ryuishi seems to enjoy food, and she can't mumble and sniffle around dumplings. Hell, he's sure he might have seen some of those parents in the market district hand sweets over to their children to keep them quiet. He nods an affirmative over at Zabuza, who looks unduly pleased that his answer is correct. Of _course_ he knew how to make his tool stop blubbering. It was his tool.

(If this answer hadn't worked, he would have tried the pillow thing.)

"We should eat," Zabuza grunts out. Kisame facepalms, wishing the other boy could have put it a little less bluntly.

Between them, the weeping figure of a little girl sniffles and rubs her eyes. When she speaks, her voice is watery and the husky tone of it sounds thick and wet. "S-Shuumai," she chokes out.

Kisame raises his head from his hand and blinks. Seriously? That glaringly obvious change of subject worked?

Zabuza nods across from him, his brown eyes flashing seriously. "Seafood sukiyaki," he adds, and the chunin is becoming more and more sure that the only reason he suggested food in the first place is because he is hungry.

Ryuishi drops her hands from her face and looks up at them from beneath her lashes with red rimmed eyes. Her dark orbs are wide and pleading, and he doesn't think the small animal look is a good one for her.

"Carry me?"

"No."

* * *

><p>Somehow the trio find themselves in some back alley establishment located in the market district. Kisame would be hesitant to call it a restaurant, but it is warm, if not a little dirty, and the air smells divine.<p>

The dark haired young teen behind the counter scowls when they walk in, and Kisame thinks the dragon tattoo that peeks out from underneath his top seems suspicious, but when his eyes alight on the form of the young girl in their company, his eyes seem to soften. He fingers a fishtooth earring hanging by his neck and welcomes them in. They seat themselves in a booth and are treated to some unexpectedly prompt services, and soon enough the man himself is taking their orders. The boys seem ignorant to the way her eyes light up in recognition when she spots him, and the subtle nod they share.

It seems like Hanako and the nameless are doing just fine.

Soon the table in front of them is laden with several different steam plates and two large bowls of hot soup. As Kisame digs in he spies a large shrimp ball in his broth, which reminds him of something he had been wanting to ask.

"Ryuishi?"

"Wahrh?" she mumbles around a mouthful of dumpling.

"Did you throw a pair of eyes at me during that fight?"

Instinctively, she blushes. Ah, yes, that. She was kinda out of her head at that point, and she really doesn't want to talk about the fucked up things that went on. The loss of her squad haunts her in a way that she doesn't see on the boys with her, and she really really lost it at that point. What scares her more is the way she views her actions, with a distant sort of apathy, a hollowness that reeks of the empty and eternal. She wants to repress the whole thing. Actually, she wants to repress a large majority of her memories at this point.

She swallows her food and lifts her hand to rub underneath her nose. "Maybe?"

Zabuza seems to have an unhealthily strong interest in the subject, and his face betrays a sense of unholy glee at the prospect of talking about it. "You did. I watched."

"I really don't think—"

"It was very effective, and one of them started crying when they saw them."

Ryuishi cringes back against the booth. She remembers that. One of them had even whispered a name she should probably remember. She feels like that whoever that man was, he was well respected and loved. Dick move on her part.

"Removing recognizable features and using them against an opponent seems a very efficient method of causing dissent among the ranks."

She winces.

Kisame turns to glare at her, his thin lips downturned. She wilts under the force of his gaze, attempting to make herself as small as a target as possible.

"If he starts maiming corpses, I am going to end you," he growls.

Indignant, she huffs. Like she can stop whatever Zabuza does. The boy is too strong willed, and frankly, as long as he is focusing on enemies and not just people in general, then he has surpassed all her expectations. Already he is far above what she could have hoped for. Sometimes, he even tries to comfort her! That's a motherfucking miracle right there!

"Whatever," she grumbles.

"I'm serious. Everybody is going to think we're freaks."

"Boy, do I have some news for you my friend."

She's sure he would have swatted the back of her head for the sarcasm if his shoulder wasn't injured. By the looks of it, he is simply trying to cow her into submission with his eyes alone.

"What news?" Zabuza asks.

She shoves another dumpling in her mouth and sighs at the boy, pointing rudely at him with her chopsticks.

"The news that you don't know what a boner is." she answers. The spiky haired shinobi looks bewildered at the change of subject. Perversion aside, it is an important discussion that needs to be had. Zabuza is nine, and very close to some intense physical and mental changes, courtesy of nature. She turns toward her oddly colored companion and gives him a stern look.

"You should fix that," she orders.

Kisame slurps up a mouthful of noodles and raises his brow at her, chewing slowly. He swallows and points his own chopsticks at her. "You're the whore's daughter."

She gasps, and then immediately regrets it because it make her ribs sing with agony, but continues anyway. Such an insult deserves an immediate and dramatic response.

"Kisame! How dare you! Why, I never—" she huffs out, hand clasped over her heart. "My mother is a most respected entertainer! Why you would stoop to such insults when I simply asked you to help educate a fellow boy about the wonders of adolescence, I will never understand!"

Kisame shakes his head at her. "Not gonna happen."

"Come on!" she exclaims, her free hand drawing a line between the two, "You're a boy, he's a boy, it works!"

Zabuza simply watches the two, steadily consuming his meal. His eyes dart between them with interest, mildly curious to know about whatever they are speaking off. Is it a weapon, a secret technique? A boner sounds like a device, or a job title. Perhaps a boner is to bones what a fisher is to fish?

Kisame becomes more firm in his stance, sitting up as straight as he can, leaning imposingly over the girl. "I will not have this conversation with him, or anybody else, ever."

"Don't be like that! You both have swords, so its easier to hear it coming for you!"

Ah, so it has something to do with weaponry, Zabuza divines. Chewing on a piece of fish cake, he huddles down to his bowl. Perhaps it is a method of attack?

"Never."

"Well I'm not going to, so who?"

Kisame shrugs and goes back to eating, abandoning the conversation. "Fuguki-sama taught me. Isn't your master in town?"

"His master." Ryuishi grunts out, pursing her lips. Why didn't she think of that? Probably because she can't even remember that man's name, let alone wherever the fuck he is. Is he in town, who knows? Not her. Ever since she graduated, before the war, he seemed to spend more time ordering Zabuza to mash her into the ground. She knows the swordsman is trying to set her up as some sort of sacrifice to rid the boy of his last bit of humanity, just as he knows she is working towards the opposite. Bastard.

A brilliant idea crosses her mind and she turns to the spiky haired boy. "Zabuza, go to your shishou and ask him what a boner is after lunch," she says, and that's that. Not only she not have to give the talk, but she got to throw that miserable scheming dick under the bus. Mentally she pats herself on the back.

Later that evening, she regrets her hasty congratulations.

Lying on Kisame's bed while he, presumably, takes a dump, she is once again comfortable. Two weeks of medical leave is going to be awesome. Nothing but lounging around and being a lazyass, her favorite hobby. True, she does have to keep up her stretches and light exercise, but compared to the constant travel and living under the threat of attack, it's basically heaven. She sighs contentedly and flips the page of her magazine.

The door to the room opens and she turns her head. Zabuza is standing there, stoic faced, more serious than she has ever seen him. He meets her eyes and she is stunned by the sincerity in them.

"Ryuishi," and wow, she thinks that might be the first time he has actually used her name, "Did we make a baby?"

She chokes on the spit in her mouth. From the bathroom she can hear the startled "WHAT?!" through the thin walls dividing them.

Startled, she sits up and, ignoring the pain in her ribs, just stares at him. "Why the fuck would you ever think that?" she demands.

Closing the door behind him, Zabuza treads carefully across the hard floor of the room, as if approaching a particularly pissed off animal. He may not be far from the truth.

"Shishou said that if you impaled a girl with your sword without protection, you create life."

She can hear cackling from the toilet, and dread fills her heart. That bastard didn't explain anything, did he?

"Zabuza… first of all, no, we didn't make a baby. That's not even—"

"I impaled you. Twice. Shishou said—"

There is loud guffawing from the restroom.

"Oh for shit's sake! That's not—! I don't even—!" she flails her arms, rushing to get the words out. She draws a deep breath to calm her thoughts.

"Zabuza, your master did not mean that sword," she tells him calmly.

"Which sword does he mean then?"

Looking to the heavens that she cannot see, Ryuishi prays for the patience she will need to explain this, and the strength not to attempt to poison a legendary swordsman.

"The one in your pants," she grits out between clenched teeth.

"I carry my sword on my back," he tells her seriously, edging towards the foot of the bed. From the restroom she can hear snickers.

She attempts to stall and shouts at the closed door. "Kisame, get out here already and help!" she screeches.

"No can do, it's gonna be a long one. I can already tell," comes the muffled reply, and man, she really, really wishes that the thought of the chunin being constipated was funny enough to distract her from the dread she is feeling. She doesn't want to do this. She avoided young children in her past life for a reason. This wasn't in her job description. Get a new life, help some orphans, befriend some pariahs, eat food, fight in a war, all are things she can do. This is like taking the Ninetails on by herself.

Yet, if she doesn't explain this, Zabuza grows up with a vague description of what is coming and makes dumb decisions. Puberty will slap him in the face like a frozen fish, and everybody around him will have to live with his aggressive naivety. She has a responsibility here to educate a wayward child and clear up many misconceptions. She can do this. Breathing deep, she steels herself.

"Zabuza, sit down," she tells him, and he balks at the order for a moment before sitting down at the foot of the bed.

"Do you know what I mean when I say the sword in your pants?" she asks again, and he firmly shakes his head no. She can do this, she can be super serious about a very serious matter.

"I mean your penis." she tells him, and shit, the very word makes her want to giggle.

He grunts and looks away, not meeting her eyes. She wants to do the same.

"As you grow up, many changes will occur in your body. This process is called puberty, and is perfectly natural," she tells him, balling her fists and powering through.

"Around the ages of nine and thirteen, the human body begins releasing things called hormones into the body, signaling the beginning of sexual maturity. In the case of boys, they will cause muscle and hair growth in various place. The penis and testicles will also grow, and voice changes are expected to occur as well," she grits out through clenched teeth, and Zabuza looks like he has just had an epiphany of some sort. She really doesn't want to know. At all.

"Alongside these physical changes, there are mental and emotional changes as well. The most obvious can be the development of a sexual drive. You may begin to look at other people, be they boys or girls, and feel things. You may not. It is just a common factor, and attraction can sometimes not be hindered by gender. There are some unspoken rules, but they generally boil down to consensual, of age, and safe."

"What's this have to do with swords?" Zabuza interjects, and she bites her lip and breath out, clasping her hands together in front of her face. Closing her eyes, she answers him.

"The sword was a euphemism for a penis, Zabuza," she breathes out.

He grunts and crosses his arms. "I don't think you can stab somebody with that."

She lets out a slight laugh, because _oh yes you can_. She has memories of it for proof.

"The act is not an actual attempt to injure someone, rather to er… uh. Hang on. Let me think of a good metaphor. While I do, please take the time to ensure that sex and violence are in separate parts of your brain. Please don't equate them."

Pausing for thought she places her head in her hand. How did she get here? How did she come to a point in her life where she is explaining such things to a little psychopath? Why is Kisame taking so long to poop? She bets he's just in there doing nothing, too afraid to come out. She bets he doesn't even know anything on the subject. What is her life even—?

Zabuza kicks his legs a bit and stares at the wall behind her.

"Okay, so, boys are born with swords—"

"You mean penises, right?" he interrupts.

She sighs. "Yes, penises. Males are born with penises, which I will call swords, and Females are born with sheaths, which are actually called vaginas, but I will call sheaths. Biologically, this is the inherent difference between sexes, which is different from gender, but I'm not even going to touch on that right now." she tells him, wagging her hand in the air, "And to create a child, a sword must be placed inside a sheath."

"A penis must be put inside a vagin—"

"ALRIGHTY THEN! I can see that metaphors aren't going to work for you," she says, clamping her hand over his mouth. Her glares at her from behind her palm.

"Put the penis inside the vagina and the act is called sex. It how babies are made. Sometimes people call other things sex, and there is a ton of variation, blahblahblah, I am so done with this conversation," she grits out, sliding down from her place on the bed.

Zabuza stares at her as she stiffly walks away, back straight. Her eyes never leave the door, and when she opens it, she pauses.

"Tomorrow morning there will be letters under your door explaining things out. Until then, do not show me your faces. I'm going to sleep in my own bed, and try to forget that puberty is quickly approaching us all," she says stoically, still not facing him. "Also, Kisame is dead to me." Then she walks out, slamming the door behind her.

There is the sound of flushing and then rushing water and a blue head pokes outside the bathroom.

"Hey, can I read the letter after you?"

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Here we see some of Ryuishi's actual personality shine through! I want her to be this nonsensical, sarcastic, douchebaggy girl but she has to filter through some shit first. Character development and all that. Also, this may seem OOC for the boys, but please remember that they are in fact just that, boys. They are kids who can act like adults but are very much children on the borders of puberty, curious about the world and their own bodies and what not.<strong>

**A side note, Ryuishi doesn't handle embarrassment very well. She likes to transmute it into aggression. Also, this chapter started out because I fucked up the ages between them, and wow, now Ryuishi is really bad at tell ages and this spiraled wildly out of control**

**A shout out to all my reviewers, and those lurkers who had the kindness and bravery to leave comments as well. I appreciate it all so much, you don't even know. Thank you to my readers and silent lurkers as well.**

**A lovely thank you to my beta Enbi who constantly deals with my shit and reminds me that humor exists in the world. She also helps me stay on track. Bless.**

**Stay tuned for more Kiri no Kaijuu sitcom humor.**


	18. Meeting your Chakra

I do not own Naruto.

* * *

><p>A week into the scheduled three weeks of medical leave, Ryuishi is still content to do jack shit. She's actually pretty grateful the iryo-ninjutsu practitioners in the Mist are all kind of incompetent. She hasn't been able to be this lazy since she was a baby, and that was fucking ages ago. It's been work work work since she could walk, driven by her own curiosity and desire for strength, which sucked so many balls. First it was because she felt the need to help the nameless, then because someone had decided she should be a ninja or whatever, then because Zabuza was a troubled youth in need of guidance, then a motherfucking war. Now though, now she she can sit back, eat food, sleep in a bed, and not do anything.<p>

Well, she _would_ have been able to do nothing if two miniature shitbags hadn't decided that they still needed to train. Seriously, they had much better things to do. In fact, they could even do this: just leave her the fuck out of it.

"Seriously, leave me the fuck out of it," she mumbles, burying herself deeper under the covers.

One of them slaps her leg while another pulls the covers away. A classic flanking maneuver. The two have gotten too good at dragging her out of bed and they're stupidly efficient at it. She might have to kill them.

"Get up and get ready you lazy brat," growls out Kisame and Zabuza just hits her again. Why, that little— After all the things she's done for him! She wrote that letter by hand! With that pen she stole from that inn! She wasted ink on the ungrateful child!

She groans and flails around on the bed, a mimicry of throwing a fit. Kisame throws something that feels like clothes at her and she stops, pretending to die. He sighs in exasperation and she can feel the bastard rolling his eyes.

"Hurry up."

"Literally eat shit and cry. Both of you," she says, face stuffed in a pillow. With his unwounded arm Kisame slaps the back of her head, and sweet mother Theresa on a fire truck in a pin up calendar, that boy has a mean slap. She whimpers and clutches the area with her hands. She would curl into a ball, but her ribs still hurt.

"Why do I even hang out with you assholes?" she whines, glaring at them groggily. She wishes coffee was more popular in Kiri. Wait, would coffee affect her growth? Can she even drink coffee? Why wouldn't she be able to? What the fuck kind of thought was that?

Zabuza glares at her while Kisame stands over his shoulder doing the same. Both of them look like they are ready to beat the snot out of her if she doesn't get up. _Pushy fucking brats_, she thinks.

"Whatever," she grumbles in defeat, sliding towards the bathroom with the clothes that were thrown. She hopes they have fun stewing in impatience while she takes a luxuriously long shower and does her hair. She doesn't even care if she's seven and only going to train, she has a compulsive need to look nice and feel clean. Those mini douchebags can deal with the consequences of their life choices. Assholes.

Somehow, and really, she's not at all sure how, they wind up outside the village walls at the lake she had first swam in in the Academy. She's mildly hungry, a little pissed, and mostly bewildered.

"What?" she grumps out, arms crossed.

"I said we're practicing Nature Transformation. You don't know any," Kisame says, rolling his eyes. She eyes the exasperated boy, hand on her hip, lips turned downward. Quirking an eyebrow, she gives the same dead look to Zabuza, who stands with his arm over a crutch, glaring at her. He looks angry, suspiciously angry.

"Look, I bet you don't even know what Nature you have. Zabuza and I had our teacher test us earlier on but you—" he coughs awkwardly. She narrows her eyes to shoot him a venomous look.

"If you woke me up to remind me that I am nowhere near as strong as you two, good job." she spits, grumpy from the cold and the reminder. Her blood is probably that of a civilian and a whore, which makes her childhood completely different than that of a shinobi's kid. She wasn't trained super young, she didn't get supervision, she wasn't even supposed to have ended up in the Academy. She is leaps and bounds behind two little boys, and it stings more than one would expect. The two of them were able to stay in shape on that battlefield when she had been run ragged. Then again, she is physically younger than the two so maybe it's not too bad.

Kisame glances at her and sighs. "You could have died. You got the most direct hit out of all of us," he tells her, and okay, she did. Any deeper and that kunai could have just as easily pierced her lung. So what? It could have been Kisame's back and she's done this whole living thing once already. These two punks haven't even begun to live, hell, they've barely hit puberty. They should be grateful!

"Doesn't matter," she grumbles out. And really, it kind of doesn't. The boys who stand before her are going to grow into men who are legends, breaking from the mold and reaching new heights. Zabuza saves a little kid and manages to seriously injure Hatake Kakashi and the Team Seven, who are crazy powerful. Kisame is going to become the most loyal person in history, someone capable of taking down tailed beasts by himself.

Watanabe Ryuishi is never mentioned in canon. There is no path for her to take, no legend to live up to. She doesn't really give a shit either. Taking on Team Seven sounds like a damn headache, and she's pretty sure a tailed beast would be able to atomize her with a sneeze. That kind of shit sounds exhausting. All she wants to do is grow up a bit so she can eat good food, drink good booze, and have a lot of casual but mind blowing sex. It's pretty much the perfect setup.

Zabuza is glaring at her and she snaps back from her daydream, looking like she has said something awful. Kisame is sneering down at her contemptuously. What?

"I didn't know that you were made of such weak stuff," he tells her haughtily.

"What?" she asks, confused.

"Did you not just say it didn't matter if you died?"

"I don't know?"

Zabuza grunts and glares harder, a sneer obvious even with his bandage mask on and Kisame looks torn between wanting to scoff derisively or facepalm.

"Seriously, I'm not sure if I did or not," she tells them. She forgets things like that, meaningless words. She can remember what her middle school science book said on page 221 but she couldn't tell you what she ate yesterday for breakfast. "Wait, does this mean if I was suicidal you guys would act like this?" she asks, brows furrowed. "Because that's awful."

In reality, she is unsurprised that they would hold this kind of attitude. After all, Kiri really doesn't seem to be the type of place that would help those with depression, or any mental disorder at all actually. Still, these are her boys and they should know better.

"You guys are dicks," she scolds.

Kisame looks like he is confused by this whole conversation, and he can't decide if he wants to be indignant, haughty, or exasperated. Zabuza just looks slightly less pissed.

"So you don't want to die?" he asks, and wow. Look at that. Zabuza is asking her about her mental state, and that has got to be a miracle. Her eyes feel a little wet, and pride wells within her heart. Not really, but it _is_ nice that he seems to be changing just a little.

"Thank you for asking, Zabuza," she says, making sure to praise his success. "No, I don't want to die."

He grunts and looks as pleased as an incarnation of rage and destruction can look, which is pretty damn pleased, actually. Kisame sighs and looks towards the heavens, probably asking the Kami for strength.

"So what are we doing again?" she asks.

Kisame looks like he's having trouble keeping his shit together and the look he sends her is absolutely lethal. The grimace he sends her is less a disgusted expression than it is a warning signal.

"Nature. Transformation." he grits out, digging a piece of paper from his pocket and thrusting it at her. Sighing, she takes it and stares at it.

"Okay, so…?"

"Channel your chakra through it!" he snaps. "Are you an idiot?"

She shrugs. "Probably."

Inside, she's a little let down that chakra paper isn't more… unique. It just feels like a waxy version of watercolor paper. It's thick and rough against her fingertips, and she can see the fibers they used to make it even with her poor eyesight. Slowly, just to piss the boys off further, she pools the chakra in her gut, making sure to use an even mix of spiritual and physical energy, before letting the mixture creep up her arm into her hands.

The paper becomes soaked.

"Big surprise," she grunts, staring at the little off white sheet. Something else is pooling out on it, staining the threads. It's kind of hard to look at, and her eyes try to slide right off of it, like she isn't meant to see it, but it blooms like smoke onto the paper. Squinting, she tries to look closer at it, but it's kind of hard to conceive. It just looks like, well, nothing. It's like she knows something should be there, but she can't remember what it is supposed to be, or why, or how. There's no answers, there is just… a void.

The Void.

Ryuishi stops immediately, balling her hand into a fist around the paper, heart beating rapidly in her chest. That bullshit was in her chakra? Motherfucker! She had been casting genjutsu on people! Genjutsu, in which she forced _her chakra_ into someone's brain in order to maintain an illusion! She was shoving death into people's heads! She was violently forcing them to experience absolute thought and sensory deprivation! Dammit dammit dammit—!

"So… water. Are we done now?" she asks in a drawl, looking back up at the boys, ignoring her surprise and fear. _Lie_, she tells herself, _lie with your body and your words, don't acknowledge anything._

Kisame narrows his eyes at the hand clasped tight around the paper. He had been watching the whole thing, carefully observing her actions, only there had been something there. He didn't know what, but he had just felt compelled to look away, just for a second…

"Training," Zabuza grunts out, jerking his head toward the lake.

She give him a deadpan look slowly turning her head to glance at the large body of water, then back to him.

"Yah, I'm going to need a bit more than that," she tells him, stuffing her hands into her pockets, betraying nothing.

Kisame continues to eye her warily. He can feel there's something off with the whole situation, but no one else seems to notice. In fact, he seems to be the one acting odd.

He breathes out and motions for the other two to follow him, channeling chakra onto his feet and stepping onto the placid surface of the lake. They continue to do so until they reach a point that seems to be the middle, and Kisame whirls on her, boring his eyes into hers.

"Feel the water," he orders her.

Ryuishi removes a hand from her pocket and bends at the waist, dipping her fingers into the liquid. "Feels wet," she tells him, eyes meeting his.

His leg snaps out and he plants his dirty sandal in her face, making sure that some of the mud from the shore smears over her forehead as he kicks her. Ryuishi squawks and straightens, her now wet hand going up to cradle her nose and the other rising from her pocket to swipe at the mud. Her pretty, neat, up kept appearance!

Zabuza snickers at Kisame's side while he glares down at her, the traitor.

"Meditate and reach out with your chakra into the lake. Feel the water, become it. To manipulate an element, you first have to understand it. Then we can work on getting you to shape it to your will," he tells her.

"How about you suck my dick and I leave and get some goma wakame?" she hisses, blinking back tears from her eyes. That kick to her face could have crushed her skull, she knows that, but instead it got her right on the spot that makes you want to cry. Bastard has perfect aim.

Kisame's eyes flash and he looks like he's about to strike her again, but Zabuza interrupts. "Do you have a penis?"

She casts her watery gaze on him. "What? No," she answers, bewildered.

"Then how—" he begins, and Kisame looks like he is just so done with this whole situation.

He closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose, breathing in slowly, ignoring their chatter. This was supposed to be a training session, to assist their teammate in getting stronger so she wouldn't get hurt as often. He had started out determined to set her on the right path, to fix all the weird habits that living as a civilian had given her, and bring them closer in terms of strength. So that what happened in the north could never happen again, and he and Zabuza wouldn't have to watch as somebody else carried her cold, limp body all the way to the hospital. So that he wouldn't have to see tan skin turn grey and hear her labored breaths. So that she would stop acting like she was stronger than she really was, and stop treating death as a joke.

The little girl in front of him had taken blows meant for boys more times than he was comfortable with. Blows that he and Zabuza could have taken with no trouble and kept moving. The kunai on their first mission was meant for him, and he would have caught it. Zabuza could have deflected everything hurled at him with ease. With bandits she took on attacks that she struggled with for seemingly no reason at all, just so they wouldn't have to.

That was a problem.

She couldn't take on their level of opponent with as much ease and her loyalty to them cost her. There was a price for her continuous intervention and it showed. There were scars that stretched out on her arms and legs, dark slivers and jagged lines that stood out against her skin. She paid in blood and pain and weeks of healing, something that the boys would not have had to deal with if they had just taken it themselves.

It wasn't that she didn't trust them, he knew that. He could see the way she acknowledged their strength, in her words and the way she would defer to them, but it was if she didn't want them to have to use that strength. Like she thought it was unfathomable that the two boys should have to do things themselves. More than anything, that loyalty and care bugged him. She was younger then them both and she consistently acted like she was an adult. Like she was their older sibling, always watching out for them. Ryuishi made sure they ate until they were full and distracted them when they felt the weight of war and battle. She gave them the least confusing explanation of puberty and sex he had ever heard, and she ate and drank and joked with them. She called them 'her boys', like they belonged there, with her. By her side, as she took care of them and cursed them in turns.

The fact that the same part of her that made sure he always got the shrimp filled onigiri would be the same part of her that would get her killed burned bright in his mind.

Confronting Zabuza, he had discovered that he was not alone in thinking these thoughts.

So, together, they had come up with a plan. They wouldn't stop her from her actions, because honestly, they liked it. It felt nice to be cared for, to have somebody remember your favorite foods and to joke around with at night. Instead, they would force her to get on their level, to fight like they did. To make her as strong as they were, so they wouldn't have to see her broken body ever again. Typically, they did not take her own opinion into consideration when they had created this scheme. Watching Zabuza and her wrestle on the water's surface, mindful of each others wounds, he regretted that. Ryuishi's brand of nonsense really complicated things.

Kisame calmly walked over toward the two, glaring at them like the children they were. The girl's teeth were sunk into Zabuza's forearm and the boy had his hands wrapped around her bangs.

"Break it up," he orders, nudging at them with the tip of his foot none too kindly, "You act like animals."

Scrambling apart, Ryuishi casts one last look at the spiky haired youth. "Yah, Zabuza. You dirty monkey," she hisses, clambering to hide behind Kisame.

"Better than a honking goose," he growls back.

Looking affronted, she goes to insult him again, but the words die on her lips. Kisame's good hand plants itself on her head and shoves down, forcing her to sit on top of the water.

"Meditate," he bites out, squeezing his fingers around her skull to drive in the point. Ryuishi sneers but crosses her legs anyway, folding herself effortlessly into a lotus position.

Breathing in and closing her eyes, she quiets her mind in much the same way she does every night before bed. Only, instead of running through memories of her past life she tries to clear her mind completely and focus on the lake beneath her.

Breathe in seven, hold four, breathe out seven. Repeat.

She has done this so many times that she can reach the state instinctively. Like swimming, her body knows the motions it needs to take, and her mind knows the paths to trace. The ones who dwell inside her head quiet themselves with her and focus, harmonizing together. They emerge from the corners of her mind, each one wildly different and and exactly the same, converging on the liar's palace she has built herself in the center of her very soul.

Breathe in seven, hold four, breathe out seven. Repeat.

_Together_, they whisper. _Stretch out and feel_, they tell her. _Guide us, and let us touch the world around you. Let us be your eyes, let us be your hands. Instruct us and we will follow. We are nobody and nothing, we are everyone and all around you. We are the quiet of the grave and the raindrops in the river. We are you and you are us._

Her chakra edges out of her, and she can feel the tendrils of the void entangled within her while she moves out of herself now that she knows that they are there. The emptiness is haunting, but she ignores it, shoving her anxiety of it down deep where it cannot bother her. Instead she focuses on the sensations around her, the deep and welcoming thing she has seated herself on, flowing and alive. Her chakra spreads out like an ink cloud inside of it and her mind follows the path of the energy until she forgets where she ends and where it begins. There is hollowness in it, and depth. It is empty, and it is overflowing with all things, the key to life itself.

She is it, and it is she.

Her heart beats and there is unity, a magical moment she cannot describe. They are connected, and from her place she can feel the boys standing there on top of the lake watching her. (On top of her watching the lake.) She can feel the creatures swimming below (Inside of her gut). She can feel the currents inside her veins and the ripples of the surface across her skin.

Around her, the water pulses with her heartbeat, sending moisture over the boys toes. They watch as the water begins to move and swirl, currents sluggishly flowing to life. The gentle wash of liquid against them, lulling around them up and down, back and forth, around and around. The pattern is slow and constant, made of several different streams coming from nothingness. A whirlpool is forming, slowly birthing from the still waters.

The girl in front of them is breathing slow and deep, her eyes closed, but the hair hanging to frame her face is caught in some sort of updraft, as if it is floating. Slowly, her bangs move like tendrils in the unseen current, like snakes in the sea.

The air is like liquid, and the water below them is becoming deep and unfathomable. There is something lurking deep within it, hungry and forever. An abyss that is springing from the girl, the lake becoming tainted by something that the living should have no knowledge of, and it beckons them all.

Ryuishi sways in the tangible current, her body writhing like a serpent's, back and forth. Time has lost all meaning. There is only the lake and her, and she cannot tell them apart. She stretches on forever into rivers that rush and flow with calm trickles and raging rapids. Further even, she can taste salt water on her tongue, deep and heady, like the sea of her home. She can taste how much she wants to be back there, how much she misses them. She can feel nothing that isn't this, and somewhere she is falling, tumbling forever in the darkness between the stars, desperately trying to hold on to everything that makes her, clinging to the memories of those she holds so dear. Her dark eyes open in a flash and something is horrible and glassy about them and—

She leans over and vomits in the water. The spell is broken.

Watching a cloud of bile sink into the lake, Ryuishi thinks this is exactly like the time she took LSD. Too much information, a sensory overload, and she probably hallucinated some of that. Her body is shivering, and she can't feel her extremities. Her eyelids are heavy and her mouth tastes like acid, and this is some bullshit. She didn't even want to be here, she didn't even want to do this! Where is she again? Who is she again?

Her heart beats sluggishly in her chest, and her body is shaking like a leaf on the wind. Attempting to channel chakra to her limbs is awful, because she can't focus, and it comes out stuttering and blinking in and out like a faulty light. Slowly, she is beginning to sink into the lake she was just one with, and she can't even feel how cold it is.

She wants to ask if their happy now, but what tumbles out of her mouth is a dyslexic nightmare of "Uyo ayhpp onw?" Her tongue is like lead, and she is inches away from vomiting again.

Somewhere, there is the sound of rushed footsteps on water, and hands grip her shoulders and waist, hauling her up without so much as a grunt. Whoever it is, they are warm.

Another pair of heated hands are running over her, checking her eyes and mouth. Something pinches her hand, and she realizes distantly they are checking for capillary response, making sure her heart and chakra systems are working. She thinks she might have had a small stroke, but she's probably being dramatic. If Zabuza knew, he'd smack her. Kisame would just roll his eyes. The latter of the two is currently holding on to the shaking girl, wondering at what just happened. He had never seen such an affinity for an element before, but the backlash was worrying. Usually the first time you tried to connect with an element, you just sat there and meditated for hours. He knew from experience that when you did connect, you ended up mildly disoriented and your chakra was harder to control. Ryuishi had done it in thirty minutes and is cold as ice, shivering and sick.

She leans back into his chest and he catches the smell of copper and salt water mixed with something floral coming from her, which was out of place with how ill she looks. If she shook too hard she would upset the injury on her ribs, so Kisame holds her tighter, controlling her limbs, trying to ignore how this must look. Zabuza doesn't seem to notice it as he inspects her, pulling down her lip and eyelids before pinching her skin. From what he can see, everything seems to be reacting properly, if a bit slow. He grabs her face in his hands, manually turning her head to look at him. Zeroing in on dilated pupils that seem to be having trouble focusing he clenches his jaw. Why was his tool always so much trouble? It was always getting itself cracked and chipped.

"Focus," he orders her, and wide coal eyes attempt to do as he says.

"Breathe," he says again, and he hears the stuttering intake of her breath, can feel the rush of air against his skin as she exhales.

"Again," and step by step, the boys help her out of the attack they unknowingly forced into, using methods meant for shock patients to bring her down.

Coming back to herself she realizes that a certain spiky haired brat is in front of her, his grubby, toasty hands on her face. Around her waist there is a warm arm keeping her trapped against an even warmer chest, and another is wrapped around her shoulders.

Ryuishi cannot stop a fond, soft smile from growing on her face. "I fucking did the shitty thing," she croaks out.

Behind her, Kisame scoffs and she feels his arms loosening around her, and Zabuza lets go of her face. Her feet slide toward the surface of the lake and the chakra she produces is steady and constant this time around. They wait around a few more minutes, waiting to see if she is back to herself. When it becomes obvious that she is fine, Kisame ruins everything.

"Now we take the next step." she hears from behind, and Zabuza smiles viciously at her.

Merciless douchebags, she thinks fondly. Tomorrow, she is going to put poison in their lunches.

She never does.

Training eats up most of their time from then on, and when Ryuishi goes to the barracks at night, she flops into her bunk, tired and sick. Using chakra like this hurts, and no matter how at home she feels in water, how much she feels like she belongs, returning to it each day is a heavy chore.

Harmonizing with her element is like stepping into the arms of a loved one, safe and warm. Only, behind them is the gaping maw of a celestial monster, reminding her that she isn't supposed to be here. That these people she knows: the brothel workers, the nameless, the boys she has come to care for, they are all just characters on a page. An invention of someone's mind. The spiraling existential crisis is something she has been burying for years, and it is something she wants to continue to bury. She doesn't want to think about these things, linger too hard on what kind of shit she has stepped into.

Ryuishi doesn't want to remember the kind of things she has faced. She wants rose colored memories of good food and her family, her brothers dumb jokes and her little sister's laughter. The feeling of slipping into her own house, her dogs fur between her fingers and her cats purring at night. She wants to relive the time her dad taught her how to swim, and the hours spent working with her mother. She wants sleepovers with her cousins and sharing a house with her best friend. She wants to be filled with Hanako's giggles and the companionship of the nameless. She wants to be joking with Kisame and wrestling with Zabuza.

She doesn't want to recall her mental instability and stressful breaks. She wants to throw away the hangovers and the days spent coming down off a high, the strangers in her bed and the vomiting and illness. She never wants to wake up in the night, still feeling the hands of a strange man on her, the stink of alleyway trash in her nose. She doesn't want to feel the rage and the shame that accompanies images of a hundred dead children with accusing eyes, broken and shattered on the ground. She doesn't want to think about her squad, their corpses painted on the outpost's walls and floating on the ocean's surface, and think, _That should have been me. I'm the one that doesn't belong._

Each time she runs through the hand seals and pours her chakra into her hands she feels it. The wildness of the water breaking out against her, the gaping void inside herself growing larger. She feels the howling abyss, and the knowledge it gave her. Each time she has to shove it down and force herself to focus, remember the good times. To keep getting back up and trying, keep moving forward, because behind her there is only death.

Ryuishi fully admits that it is the two boys around her that keep her grounded, that force her to stand up again. They take her hands and make her see, bend her limbs into moving each day when she wants to bury herself in memories. Two little kids that pick her back up and take her out, press her to keep walking out onto that lake. She wants to be better, because they have to have someone better watching their backs. For them she shoves down her sorrow and guilt, she entombs her bitterness and hate for Kiri and the shinobi world. Without her boys, she would be lost, shattered under the weight of horrible memories and war.

So when their three weeks are up and the unit is informed that they will no longer be a logistics division, she bucks up and accepts that metaphorical kick in the balls. She goes home, sits in front of a mirror and finally unwraps that jar of black she wrapped up so long ago, knowing that she has finally earned this right. She dips her fingers into the ash based paint, and lifts them up to her face, chin held high. She dots her cheeks and lines her eyes and creates a lovely, fearsome new face for herself.

She is Cat Frank, and long ago, her ancestors did this before battle. She is Watanabe Ryuishi, and she wears this mask like a promise. She is many others, and together they will protect their unit and destroy those that stand in their way.

When they meet by the east gate, the boys look on curiously, but don't say a word. Together, her unit merges with another, and they march back to war, to the front lines. The sound of battle drums fills her head.

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><p><strong>AN:YES! Okay, please take note of Ryushi's growing mental instability. She has faced traumas and is constantly repressing emotions like guilt, sorrow, rage, and is trying to dissociate herself from the world. She is also allowing herself to make the boys, who are literally children, into mental anchors for herself. She also is allowing her personalities to influence her more and grow. None of this is healthy. Do not do this.<strong>

**More Kiri no Kaijuu fun, this time some concern from the boys part. If you think it is OOC, message me and I will attempt to explain my thought processes.**

**Be warned that the next chapters will have triggers, and that the shit storm for our little girl isn't over.**

** All thanks to the great and mighty Enbi, my beautiful Beta. A big thanks for all of my readers, lurkers, favoriters and followers. Another shout out to those who leave reviews and keep me writing. Bless your faces, may you get something nice for letting the author know what you like and what you enjoy.**


	19. Interlude: The Liar

I do not own Naruto.

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><p>This is how it starts.<p>

She is two and they are speaking about so many things, and their words flow so quickly. She can see it on their faces that it is serious, that it is a painful topic. The older woman, with flint in her hair and steel in her eyes, she keeps pointing to her and to a scroll. The other one, the one that feeds her and changes her diaper, is crying.

She tells herself she does not care, and stares back out the window.

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><p>Her first word is <em>kazoku<em>. It means family.

Keiko cheers and smiles, her eyes bright and proud. She shows her off to anybody who will see, and in a brothel full of lonely, bitter women, it is everyone. Like a parrot she repeats the word, over and over again, and soon everyone in the Okiya thinks that they are part of hers. She gains aunts and sisters and a grandmother or three that day. She plasters the happiest, cutest grins across her face and gurgles at every one of them.

None of them are her family.

The very first word out of her mouth is a lie.

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><p>She sits still and quiet as the murmur of her nee-san's talk washes over her. They are playing with her hair, painting her nails and painting her face. She is a living doll, who laughs and smiles exactly when they need it most. She is so young, so cute, so willing to please. Those in the Okiya love her, and are always willing to give little Ryuishi an extra treat or tidbit. She is quiet when they want it, loud when they need it, and everything in between. She brings sweets to those sad girls and laughter to the mad ones. They tell her she has a great intuition. She just smiles and giggles.<p>

She can read each and every one of them like a fucking book.

Even without words she can lie.

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><p>Keiko loves her, she really does. Ryuishi tells her that she is the best mom, that she's really good at cooking and that she is so pretty. The girl brings her flowers and candies and gets in just the right amount of trouble. It is better than Keiko could have hoped for.<p>

(Keiko does not love her, she loves the idea of her. She is not a mother, at best she is a neglectful older sibling. Her food is okay but she is very pretty. She brings her flowers to get the appropriate message across and calculates the exact amount of trouble she can get in before it becomes too much.)

Her lies mix with truth and the world is painted grey.

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><p>She looks out at the city through the fog laden windows shaped like full moons, and the world is drizzly and grey. She can see her reflection staring back at her with narrowed black eyes sunken into tan cheeks. Her lashes are long and prominent, just like her jutting cheekbones and poking ribs. She tells herself she always wanted to be thin, and that three small meals a day are enough for her. She convinces herself that she always looked this haggard and stressed as a kid, and that the nightmares aren't getting worse. She thinks that her family is out there, in another world, waiting for her to find them again. That this world is only a blip in time, and that she has a purpose here. She says the knowledge of her past life is here to help other people.<p>

She has always lied the most to herself.

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><p>The day she meets the orphans in the alley, she does it out of pity and the kindness of her heart, because she truly cares about children. To see such young lives in such a state brought her soul low, and all she ever wanted to do was help.<p>

That is what she will tell people later on, and they will clap and cheer and name her a saint.

What she will never say is that she has shaped them into the thing she wanted, that she manipulated each and every one of them for her own selfish purposes. She will tell the world that it is love that drove her to bring every citizen up, that she honestly believes that every person is born equal. She will never breath a word about histories from a strange land where citizens rebelled against their leaders and died horribly. Not a single syllable about how the chaos that would rule and the burning, hellish agony when walls were torn down would pass her lips.

Born as an whore's daughter, she could never cross the class divide on her own, so she builds up an army to tear it down for her, giving them a goal she knows is unreachable. She weaves a single strand and watches her spiders scurry back and forth in the shadows to make her a web.

Her lies are powerful, this she has always known.

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><p>She meets a boy with blue skin and a smile full of knives. The first thing that fuels her when she sees him is <em>I can use this<em>. Not, _let's be friends_, or _that's my favorite character._

No, she wants to use him like the deluded child she knows he is.

Kisame is strong and Kisame is loyal. Kisame is the first canon character she ever meets. He is snarky and level headed, and his favorite foods are crab and shrimp. He enjoys his tea with two spoonfuls of sugar and he likes to think that the world is bright and full of hope, that being honest means something.

She wants to break him in her hands and tear apart his worldview. She wants to shake him until he has brain damage and point to the women around him. Ask him if it is fair that they are forced into this work, never given training or education otherwise. She wants to spit at his feet and drag him to the tiny corpses in the back alleys, demand answers about how fair life was to them.

Instead she peppers him with compliments and throws him off balance. She makes his mind reel, and then she tells him a single truth.

"I am a liar," she says, and she smiles like a fox, because eventually, he will forget. He will believe in her, build her up. Then she will make the world around him tremble. His precious ideals and oh-so-sweet beliefs will collapse. She will bring him low and show him the truth behind her lies.

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><p>A boy grabs her by the hair and beats her down. He proclaims to all who witness that she belongs to him, and a quiet rage blooms in her heart.<p>

Zabuza is a wolf, an alpha whose only concern is leading his pack and tearing at any weakness exposed. He is quiet as he stalks his prey, and vicious as he tears into threats. He claims her as his tool and makes her hunt by his side, but they both know deep down that she is not a part of his pack.

She is a crow, opportunistic and clever, using him to protect herself. She lives off the corpses he makes and draws strength in his efforts to conform her.

She is a cat, lazy and apathetic, watching him struggle and rage, not understanding the ways of the world. She leaves him gifts of food and companionship so that he will not stray away.

She is a sea snake, venomous and cruel. When he cuts down a hundred children for another's reward, she strikes him down with poison on her tongue and punishment dripping from her fangs.

She is a magpie, loud and shrill where he is quiet and cold, drawing attention to herself, mimicking words to make sure that the world will never see the treasure she has stolen from them.

Zabuza is a wolf who is convinced he has dominated her. So willing to believe he has created his perfect, shining tool. He makes her walk by his side and bow to his whims, but she is a liar.

A liar who has fed the wolf and brought it into her home. A liar who has shaped a little pup into a ferocious guard dog. She has pushed and molded him like clay in her hands until he took a form that pleased her.

She has stolen his loyalty from the village that birthed him and forged him into her tool. This is the retribution he has wrought.

Together, they live a lie.

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><p>She steps onto a battlefield and she fights for her life. Around her there is death and destruction, but her face is lined with a bloodthirsty smile. She cuts down enemies and drowns their will to live.<p>

She is afraid, so very afraid.

At night her hands shake, and she can't find her voice. Alone, she cries tears that are salty like the sea and her heart stutters a staccato rhythm in her chest. She remembers the Void and the endless distance between galaxies, the hollow vacuum of space and time itself.

This world is too big, too angry. It is so very different from her home. She hates it, she wants to burn it down and sleep forever. She doesn't want to be among strangers and monsters.

She bucks up because there is no way but onward in her web. There are plans to execute and lives to take.

She tells herself it will be alright, but knows that too, is a lie.

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><p>There are too many parts of her built on lies. The foundation of her mind is shifting and unsteady, rippling like the surface of the ocean. On top of the waves spring palaces built on lies, every brick a falsehood pulled together by mortar made of fiction. They are great castles hiding a single truth from the world. From herself.<p>

Each grand design houses a single part of her, and they stretch around her in a wide circle. From each staircase there is a line that bleeds out, cutting across the waves to a single, small space.

This is where they become her.

They argue inside their head for hours, going over plans and thoughts and random rages. They feed off of each other, leaking energy and fueling another spat. They can rarely agree on anything, and harmonizing the chaos is so very hard.

There is only one thing they seem unanimous about, and that is the tendril of emptiness that contaminate the mindscape.

_Do not look too deep_, they all say. _Do not gaze too hard_.

They never say not to forget though. Forgetting would be ignorance, and they will not throw away such a valuable knowledge. They may wear a thousand faces and ten thousand masks, they may curse and laugh and cry, but they are not stupid.

They are not completely dishonest with themselves.

She has been lying for so long, lying so hard, she forgets the point of it sometimes. She finds herself making up small things sometimes, messing up on tiny parts of her stories. If you stepped away, the anomalies would be small in scale. What her favorite food is, what her fourth birthday was spent doing. Nothing large, nothing that matters.

She has infected herself with a disease known as deception, and she knows it. She wishes she could slip further into it, because the one thing about being a liar, a really good liar, is that you must always keep sight of the truth.

She must know why she is lying, what the consequences of her deceptions may be. She has to keep so many stories both straight and twisted inside her head that it is agonizing. There is no coming back from the untruths she has acted out, the lies she has spoken and the half-truths she breathes as easy as air.

She has no idea if it will ever end.

For her there is no single truth, no ultimate honesty. Everything is a matter of perspective, and she has so many that she can tell you each one you want to hear. She can see you inside and out, laid bare, but she cannot judge. There are too many sides to every story, too many pieces of a whole. The truth about truths is that they are all subjective, and there is no one right honesty. The world is not painted in black in white. It is not even painted in grey. There are a myriad of colors, a pantheon of hues. The differences can be so very, very subtle that sometimes they are impossible to tell apart.

No, she knows where it started, but for her, the lies will never end.

She is Watanabe Ryuishi. She is Cat Frank. She is the scholar, the madman, the murderer, the friend. She is the joker, the stoic, and the unwritten. She is the bird, the serpent, the cat, and the spider. She has one hundred faces and ten thousand masks. She is the daughter, the sister, the bully and the Samaritan. She is empress and queen, servant and slave. She is peacemaker, hope-giver, warmonger and soldier. She is so many parts that she is a whole, but above all else, she is a liar.

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><p><strong>AN: So! We see another side of Ryuuishi that isn't as obvious as her joking self. Oh the duplicity! This is important to know because there is a lot of shit coming up in one big emotional rollercoaster of an arc without much humor. Also I got a review requesting a picture of Ryuishi in warpaint and got sort of inspired. Unfortunately I can't draw children so we have and older Warpaint! Ryuishi link on my profile. Addressing future use of canon characters, I feel people should know I usually write a few chapters ahead so I can't tweak the chapters to soon, but I am writing more canon stuff right now. Hold on tight, we get to see them soon.<strong>

**We thank the great beta Enbi for making my poop readable.**

**Seriously though guys, I cannot express how much your fucking reviews mean to me. It makes me laugh and dance like a few. I also carefully monitor all your favorites, follows and visitor to my story. Bless your hearts.**


	20. Meeting the Beginning of Something Big

I do not own Naruto.

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><p>This, she decides, is some sort of bullshit.<p>

She snakes her chains around her opponent, a man with bright blue hair and a snarling face, and traps his limbs close to his body. Tugging on them with her leg, she sends him tumbling forward, close enough that she has little trouble shoving the bladed tip of her weapon through his atlas, ending him. Removing the sticky weapon, she scans around her. Kisame is somewhere ahead of her, mowing down enemies like it's nothing, his katana swinging wildly. Somewhere to her left, Zabuza is enjoying this way too much, as per usual. The two don't even look a bit tired, and she wonders if she is the same. The three of them have developed pretty good endurance after so long.

A hail of kunai fly overhead, explosive tags fluttering behind them. She tucks down and rolls, shouting out a warning for all who can hear above the sound of battle, and slips into the water that Kisame so helpfully provided at the start of all this. Above her the world ignites, and shockwaves shake the liquid around her. All she can think is that this? This is some serious bullshit.

Launching herself into motion, she glides through the blue, her fingers flashing through hand seals. This dickery has been going on for years now. Years! She wants to spend her leave in the village, eating great food, taking hot showers, maybe taking a dump in an actual toilet for once. But _no_! No, Kiri has to send them out on another fucking mission, fighting some more opponents, in the middle of goddamn nowhere. Seriously, she doesn't even know what village they're from anymore. She stopped caring, like, a year and a half ago. Casting a genjutsu that will make the woman above her experience both the horrors of the Void and drowning, she wonders when she stopped caring about that as well.

(Probably after the third time she got fucking stabbed. Seriously, that is some nonsense right there. It really fucking hurts.)

The world shakes again, and the disoriented woman never even notices Ryuishi explode from the water and slit her throat before she sinks back in. Disgustedly flicking blood from her weapon, she fumes on how much crap this is. The Kiri no Kaijuu have made a name for themselves, and she really wishes they hadn't.

A hand wraps around her ankle seconds before she is pulled from the small lake, and she whirls on instinct, lashing out at her attacker as she is dragged on her belly. She doesn't even have to think anymore as her body reacts.

Kisame made a name for himself a while back, finally growing into the title of The Monster of the Mist, taking the moniker from their group name. His sadistic side has grown from slapping the shit out of her to literally dismembering opponents before he kills them. Puberty not only made that kid grow like a fucking weed, but really fed his aggression as well. He is a billion feet tall, towering over her like a giant, and is built like a brick shit house, one that might just rip off your arm. To think, he had once scolded her for ripping out someone's eyes, the hypocrite.

Zabuza, now called The Demon of the Bloody Mist, had also been struck by the awful disease, forming into some semblance of a teenager. The first time his voice cracked she had laughed herself sick, because his stern countenance was so ruined by the effect. True, he had punched her in the broken leg she had been sporting at the time, but it was well worth it. The only thing that bothered her about it is she had to abandon her heaters, as the horrible day had finally occurred and she had woken up in their shared bedroll with something long and hard jabbing her in her back.

She had never scrambled out of bed so fast in her life. Kisame had laughed in her fear stricken face.

Unfortunately, the ravages of time had not left her alone. She too is beginning to experience familiar symptoms. Her once cute, delicate features have begun to warp, her cheekbones becoming more prominent, her hips and butt swelling in size. Hell, she was been forced to buy a bra. A bra! After years of not needing one, going back to it was like being slapped with a cinder-block. Her chest feels like someone has been using it as a punching bag, and the only reason her mood swings aren't noticeable is because her mood always is wishy washy. Second puberty is just as terrible as the goddamn first time around.

The opponent above her is blindsided by a shirtless blur, and Ryuishi grunts as she hauls herself up. Briefly she checks on Zabuza to be sure that yes, he is literally punching the face off of that man, and no, he doesn't need help. Sighing, she flashes through more hand cramping signs, knowing this is a bit of overkill for the level of their opponents.

"Suiton: Bakusui Shoha!" she exclaims, letting her (empty, hollow) chakra flood out into the water behind her. A pulse races across the forested clearing, and a great wall of water emerges behind her, twisting and writhing unnaturally. Parts of it seem to be hard to look at directly, and the eyes slides right of it, but that doesn't really matter because there is thousands of pound of force rushing at her opponents, ready to crush them under the colossal strength of her wave. In the corners of her eye she sees Kisame jump high, and she grabs Zabuza by a leg and tosses him up in a display of strength before planting her feet. Beneath her, the water boils and churns as it rises high above them, giving her a great view down some woman's shirt. It's a shame they're enemies, because whoever she is, her rack is fantastic. _Damnit hormones, not now!_

Behind her she can hear Kisame let out an adrenaline fueled whoop of excitement, and even Zabuza seems to be chuckling as he clutches on to the wall of water before it folds in on the weight of itself. Her stomach feels fluttery every time they do this, and she smiles past her frustration. Surfing always was a favorite of hers.

The figure collapses and the tsunami hurtles down and out, the chakra shaping it carefully funneling it forward at their enemies. People disappear like ants, and she knows the power behind it is enough to crush bones and hemorrhage organs. Not to mention the force of the debris tumbling around inside of it.

Riding down the face of a force of nature, soaking wet and grinning, this is where she gets her name. They call her Kiri no Ningyo.

The first time she heard it, the boys with her had laughed. After being told what it meant, she laughed too. The ningyo was something like a mermaid, only it told fortunes, shifted shape and cried tears that were pearls. When taken from their homes they could summon earthquakes and tsunamis. If one ate their flesh they could become immortal, or die a painful death.

Ryuishi, on the other hand, says exactly jack shit about the possible future, rarely uses a henge, and fucking wishes she could cry pearls. That would be a free life of luxury right there. She is horrible with doton techniques, and can only make a wave three quarters the size of Zabuza's and maybe, _maybe_ two fifths the size of Kisame's. She is also pretty sure that if you ate her flesh, what you would get is a swift fucking kick to the face and a slow death, not immortality.

Crashing down to earth again, the trio backtracks to take down any still-living opponents while they are stunned from the wave, sending out blades from a distance and then crouching over to remove heads the way a hunter-nin would. For extra thoroughness, and also because Zabuza got shanked in the back of the knee one time when they didn't.

Standing up straight, she groans and stretches her hands over her head. That jutsu always eats up a good portion of chakra, and now she feels like she drank a bunch of liquid on an empty stomach. It's just sloshing around in there, defining the empty space. She hears one of her boys approaching behind her right before a hand is around her wrist, dragging her close. She squawks as Zabuza pulls her close to his gangly teenage self, looming over her and moving her limbs like a doll as he checks her for injuries.

"Zabuza!" she snaps, "We talked about this!"

He grunts and checks a hole in her shirt by her waist, where a sendon had come close to nicking her. She slaps his hand away and plants a foot on his chest, leaving her dangling by a wrist.

"Personal space, you fucking creep! Knock it off!" When it becomes obvious that he is ignoring her, yet again, she calls for reinforcements.

"KISAME!"

She hears a put-upon groan as she attempts to wriggle out of her friend's grasp.

"Seriously, do I need to explain why this is weird again?" she hisses at the boy.

A blue-grey hand pries open Zabuza's fist, and Ryuishi staggers for a second as she regains her balance. Looking up at the familiar disapproving glare of their commander, she grins. Zabuza just goes to visually inspect their other comrade, exuding an intimidating aura the whole time. Seriously, for as fucked up as he is, the boy sure is neurotic about injuries.

"Thanks, boss."

"I thought this would stop when you two made chunin," he grunts out.

"You were mistaken," she informs him gravely. "Zabuza's creep factor knows no bounds." Seriously, if Kisame thought a pair of battlefield promotions were enough to stop the dysfunctional relationship the trio shared, then he was as mad as… well, a Kiri shinobi. Ha. God, she was hilarious.

Zabuza smacks her across the back of the head for the comment. She hisses at him and clutches the assaulted area. What a fucking douchebag.

"Tools should not speak unless ordered to," he tells her.

"Oh, not this again," ruminates Kisame.

"You're objectifying me, you bag of shit!"

The trio squabbles among themselves all the way back to whatever squad has them this time.

One thing Watanabe Ryuishi can tell you now, that she couldn't say years ago, is that the frontlines in a Shinobi Wars are a place unto themselves.

Running in a logistics squad had never prepared her for this. There were moments in battle when she forgot where she was, or who was an enemy. Moments when she could no longer tell up from down, because she had been jumping and diving for so long.

Storms of kunai and shuriken would rain down on her, interspersed with poisoned senbon and exploding tags, so thick in number that they would blot out the sun. The earth would rumble under her feet, and the air would drip with poison and mist. Fires burst into existence every other second, and the action would pull the air from her lungs and the sound from her ears. Ambushes were always a possibility, and sleep was hard to come by. Sometimes she would close her eyes and wake up to white phosphorus burning down the clearing and melting her skin. Other times they would be the ones raining down hell, waking up squads in a torrent of brine, swords and sharks.

Sometimes there would be nothing, and they would just sit and wait. Hurrying from one place to another for no reason at all. They would joke and play, but nothing could take the shadows from their eyes and the paranoia from their minds. They grew up like this. There was no other path, no other way for them but war.

The Void is her constant companion. Standing on a freshly cleared out battlefield, she can feel the drain and taste the hollowness. The air might reek of truly ridiculous amounts of blood, hanging on the wind like fetid butcher's wares. It might stink of popped gallbladders and torn intestines that smell quite literally of shit, but it is full of death as well.

Her head is constantly a mess, and most nights she wakes up gasping and covered in a cold sweat, hearing voices and reliving memories. Sometimes she is in an alleyway, or on a battlefield. Sometimes she is walking through her old home like a ghost, screaming for her family, her culture, her world. She opens her eyes and fire burns in her mind and voices shout out, ordering her to simultaneously break down and cry and pick her mask back up, but usually she is not alone. So she sits by strangers and friends alike, staring into the darkness, lingering in half remembered horrors. The only thing she knows these days is the one thought she started with.

_Protect her boys_.

They protect her too. She can't count how many times their warning calls have saved her, or how many of their distractions have given her the opening she needed to take a life. All she knows is that she tired, so very tired of this enormous pile of bullshit. Maybe it would be different if she held any loyalty for Kiri, or respected its soldiers in any shape. But all she can see is a bunch of bullies and misfits pulled together by the simple want to live, and that doesn't inspire her. That doesn't make her want to fight.

It makes her want to stop.

The only thing that keeps pushing her is her own rage. The rage at her commanders for giving stupid orders she know will cost lives. The anger at her shitty situation. The frustration she sees when she goes back to the village and every civilian is stooped so low, looking so worn from the work of supporting this war. She hates the world she lives in now, but she keeps pushing. Keeps moving forward, waiting for a sign.

Ryuishi doesn't know how much longer it can last, though. She thinks that the weight on her back isn't suited for someone like her, and eventually, there is going to be one last straw that breaks her.

"Neh, guys?"

Her spiky haired friend grunts and looks at her, twisting from his place inside his bedroll. The moonlight is scarce tonight, and she can only see the vague outline of them in the darkness. She still hasn't been able to get glasses, even after all these years, but she deals with it.

"When this is over, you know what we should all do?"

On her other side Kisame turns his reflective predator's eyes on her as well, and he notices the soft smile she is wearing, her gaze dreamy and far away. Not in the glassy way she sometimes gets, where her words are confusing and disjointed, but in the way she gets when they're all eating together, or one of them accidentally lets something nice slip out.

"We should find some sunny beach in the south, and build a house there. Together," she tells them. "Someplace where the water isn't cold, and the sun is warm on our skin. Where we can just sit and do nothing all day and listen to the ocean."

Zabuza, for once, doesn't interrupt with how impossible this situation is. He doesn't bring her back to the harsh reality that they can never leave the village, not without defecting. Kisame doesn't tell her how traitorous her thoughts are, or how she needs to stop living in the clouds.

These calm, tranquil moments are coming less and less these days. There haven't been any more extravagant tales about the A-team, or the missing nin Rambo. She stopped talking about the great sea serpent who birthed the world years ago, and she only ever told the story of the Shawshank prison once.

"We could catch fish, and grow a garden. I would cook the best food every night, and we could have bonfires under the stars," she whispers, "We wouldn't have to fight unless we wanted to, and nobody would know where we lived, so they couldn't ambush us."

"Would you make that crab stuff again?" Kisame asks, humoring her.

"Whenever you caught crab and shrimp," she lies.

"Could we beat up trespassers?" questions Zabuza.

"Of course."

She lays between them, surrounded by their warmth, separated by only their individual bedrolls. All three of them silently entertain dreams of the future.

Ryuishi tries to enjoys the moment, but she knows it is not meant to last.

On their next leave, a runner finds her in the barracks. The girl is only six or seven years older than her, and she looks exhausted. Her eyes have bags underneath them and her colorful kimono is torn in some places. She silently hands Ryuishi a scroll.

Kagami is requesting her, and somehow, the young Mist kunoichi doesn't think it is about anything good.

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><p>Omake: What do the Kiri no Kaijuu dream of?<p>

Momochi Zabuza has a dream, a goal he is determined to reach.

He wants to become the world's strongest shinobi, so strong that no one can stand against him. He will paint the world red with the blood of his enemies, and every foe that falls before him will be another piece of proof that none can stand against him. He will wield the legendary blade Kubikiribocho, and he will make the world see that he is deserving of every ounce of their respect, and legitimize every one of their fears.

When he makes it to the top, he will wear the robes of a Kage, and all will acknowledge his might. By day he will work at the top of a tower, with windows that span in every direction and with a view for miles. He will be on top of the world. He will have all the control he could ever want, and an arsenal of tools to use.

But his first tool will always be by his side.

In his head, she does all the paperwork for him, and is happy to serve. She comes in his office every morning with a warm plate of food and a hot cup of tea. Sometimes, they'll even fight, but only when he wants to. They'll be older, after the war, and she'll wear those shirts that show off her stomach all the time, not just when she's going to bed. She'll also wear that pair of pants he saw her try on once, the ones that she didn't buy because the size was too small and "black yoga pants don't offer shit for armor."

She won't ever have to worry about armor though, because he's the strongest shinobi in the world, and she belongs to him.

If anyone tries to, say, kidnap or hurt his tool, he'll show them exactly what it means to mess with him. He'll tear them down piece by piece, rip them to shreds, and she will help, because she's a good tool. Then, she will get hurt, because she always gets hurt. Then he'll have to carry her, and he won't be wearing a shirt because shirts are dumb and one of the enemies got close and ruined it or something.

She'll turn to him and blink her dark eyes slowly and smile. She'll say something like, "What would I do without you?" and he'll just grunt as the base explodes behind them, because even their corpses aren't good enough to exist in his world. Then, they'll go back to the tower and she'll cook dinner, and it won't have any of the stuff he hates. Kisame will be there, because Zabuza is merciful, and he thinks he'd make a good jonin commander. They'll eat together inside the tower.

At night, when he goes to bed, Ryuishi will be there with cold hands on his chest and long hair that smells like fruit and saltwater lying loose around them. They'll fall asleep in a big bed, because she likes them, and share the blankets like they did when they first started out as ninja.

It won't be perfect, because Zabuza doesn't believe in perfection. He does believe in greatness though.

So, his future will just have to be great.

Hoshigaki Kisame has had the same dream for as long as he can remember, and it really hasn't changed much.

His goal is to become one of the legendary Seven Swordsmen of the Mist, and beyond that, the greatest swordsman that ever lived. He'll be so good at what he does, that no one will ever doubt him. The people on the street won't call him names or shy away from the way that he looks. Instead they will speak of what a shining example he is, how honest and loyal.

Civilians will give him discounts in their stores and restaurants because he will be so well known, so kindly regarded. The village will recognize his skill and make him a high ranking jonin, and sometimes he'll spend his day in an office, a hot cup of oolong tea on his desk and a collection of swords behind him.

He will wield the mighty and amazing blade Samehada, the sentient creature that already seems to enjoy his company. Eventually his teacher will offer him one last fight and he will win the prize he has been waiting for since he was a child. Together they will strike fear into the hearts of their enemies. Some battles will be hard, but Samehada and his unit will always see him through. Zabuza will inherit his own blade, as is his right, and together they will be the strongest swordsman in an age, and they will go down in history. Kisame as number one, of course.

When they get tired of fighting, they will edge into their favorite restaurant, and their old teammate Ryuishi will be there to greet them. After a long and successful career she will have finally followed her true calling, cooking food. The only wound she will ever get from that is the occasional sliced hand or burnt finger.

She'll wear her hair down in a long, loose braid, with an apron around her waist, and there will always, always be a bowl of her seafood sukiyaki waiting for him. She'll smile her sideways smirk, only it won't look so bitter in the future, and she'll laugh and crack raunchy jokes with them like always. She'll run her hands through his hair and tell them both that they aren't eating well enough on the field, then ask them something like, "Do I have to come out of retirement just to make sure you eat better on missions?" and he'll put his hand on hers and scowl, and she'll laugh because she was joking all along.

Before they leave, she'll give them both hugs, and they'll pretend that they don't want it, but she will wrap them up in her arms tightly regardless and send them off with cake for later.

When he goes to bed at night, it will be in a house that he has already paid off. There will be a picture of his unit on his wall, the same picture he has by his bed now. When he lies down in his very, very high thread count sheets they will smell like pear blossoms and the ocean, and he will fall asleep to a husky voice humming a soft, gentle song.

It won't be perfect, because Hoshigaki Kisame doesn't believe in perfection. It might not even be great, because he knows that reality is hard and demanding. For his dream though, he is willing to work, because he know's he can make it a reality.

He will work hard everyday if he has to, so his future can be warm.

Watanabe Ryuishi tries not to think about the future, or the past. If she has a dream, she won't speak it, because it is too impossible, too far away, and it hurts her heart to think about. She doesn't even have a goal, because she want to live in the moment. She is tired of setting herself up for failure.

What she does have is a desire.

Ryuishi wants to leave this awful, shitty village and take every nameless child and victimized civilian with her. She wants to travel, nothing trying her down to one place. She wants to explore little towns and big cities, and eat everything that looks mildly appetising. She'll meet new people and make new friends. There will be laughter and warmth and brightness.

She'll befriend little kids and teach them fun stuff before sending them home to their families. She'll share bad jokes with a hooker in every akasen she can find, and leave every place just a little cleaner and brighter than when she found it.

Then, as she gets older, she'll drink good booze and party wildly at night. She'll go to one of those 'reibu' she has heard so much about and shake her ass. She will bring twerking to the Elemental Nations.

When she gets tired, and the yearning for a bed of her own get too strong, she will head south to a warm, sunny beach where the waters are temperate and a short walk away. She'll never put on pants or a shirt and live in and out of her bikini, so her tan skin will glow a deep and pure bronze color. She'll sip juice out of a coconut, and do absolutely nothing.

Sometimes, her boys will come around. She doesn't care about what they're running from or why they decided to visit, she'll just stuff them in the guest room and whip up their favorite meal.

Zabuza will grunt and sit on the beach. He'll get a funny tan line on his face because he'll refuse to take of his mask, but he'll fall asleep in the sand anyway. Maybe he'll even get a sunburn, because that would be hilarious. Kisame will join her in the water, and they'll swim forever. Her skin will get wrinkled and she'll be jealous of his ability to stay underwater so long without getting wrinkly skin and she'll get in a splash fight with him. It will probably devolve into a jutsu fight which shewill end up losing, so she'll go pout beside Zabuza on the beach, and tan in the sand beside him.

At night, they'll light a big fire with driftwood and roast fish over the open flames. One day, when she's ready, she'll tell them about where she came from and what it was like, and they will understand.

Zabuza will say, "You're still my tool."

Kisame will say, "You've always been weird."

Then she will smile, and definitely not cry.

When she goes to bed at night, it will be in a big fluffy ass bed with a million pillows and covers made from cotton. She'll wrap herself up in a cocoon of warmth and safety and fall asleep to the smell of blood and running water.

It won't be perfect, because she will still ache so deeply for those she has lost. She will hurt so very, very much. It won't even be great, because she doesn't know if she can ever reach that level again. Her future seems tepid and chill.

No, her future won't be perfect, or great, or warm, but it will keep getting better.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Yay! The beginning of a very important arc! Hold on to your shit everybody, the roller coaster is starting. This chapter is a little short, so I included an Omake I had saved up. I think dreams are really telling about a person in general, and it is the same with these three.<strong>

**First of all, I want to thank everybody so much for sticking with this. The feedback I've gotten keeps me alive and happy, and even more importantly, it keeps me writing. A huge hip-hip-hooray for all my reviewers, bless your tasty fucking hearts, and to all those who favorite and follow.**

**An encouraging whisper to all my lurkers, I'm lucky to have you. **

**Another reminder that I drew a picture of older Ryuishi and the link is on my profile.**

**ALL THE BLESSINGS FOR MY BETA, ENBI, WHO DESERVES SUNSHINE HAPPINESS AND HAMBURGERS: BETTER BURGERS 4 BETA'S 2k15!**


	21. Meeting the Final Straw

I do not own Naruto. Triggers for gore. Warning about many things.

* * *

><p>The red light district is where Watanabe Ryuishi was born, where she was probably meant to work. Looking at the section of the village that she hasn't seen in years, she wonders how much has changed.<p>

The cracked concrete paths are still covered in gritty black grime and puddles that smell suspiciously of piss and sake. The walls are still filled with holes and broken pieces where succulent green vines peek out and creep out to reclaim more land. There is still trash and grit on every corner. It's midday, and there is little sunshine. The heavens are clouded grey and overcast, threatening to rain, and the air still has the chill of eternal cold in it.

Girls in colorful kimono still line the streets like butterflies, flittering to and fro, calling out to buyers and soliciting the unaware. Their smiles are cherry red and they laugh behind fans, but their eyes are dull and hazed, not even seeing the person that stands before them. Long hair in delicate updos shimmers with fake gold and cheap silver, and she can smell the potent mix of scents that move like waves off of them, hiding the stale stink of sweat and sex.

When she casts her gaze into the back alleys, she can see the drunks and the pickpockets that mingle with corpses of varying sizes. Syringes and broken opiate pipes lay used and forgotten in the gutters. Ahead of her she can see a man with a bottlecap necklace fencing drugs, looking all too healthy. _Wartime is always kind to dealers_, she thinks, _everybody is looking for an escape._ She knows how fake his charming smile is. She knows the deal. In another life, she was just like him, pushing product that she knew would kill anyone willing to purchase.

Nothing has really changed.

Walking through the fog-covered streets now, though, she still feels like something is different. Maybe it's her.

Her feet don't make noise on the broken stone beneath her, and even the swish of her pant legs is hard to hear. Her steps are no longer quick and hurried, but loping and apathetic. There is no fear in her eyes any longer, because she has seen worse than these streets. No strange man or woman could force themselves on her anymore, no hungry Okiya mother could snatch her up and add her to the stables to make her quota.

Ryuishi can feel eyes on her that were never there when she was a toddler, peeking out from corner alleys and everyday stalls. She may not be the best ninja in the world, and she may not see very well, but she knows what is watching. She can read these signs, the quick little feet and the defensive maneuvers. Something in her gut squirms, an unnamed mix of foreboding and pride.

She slinks into back alleys that once frightened her with ease, sliding through the muck and ignoring the physical incarnations of broken dreams and lost hope that lay like corpses in the dark. Kagami has called her, and like the curious child she is, she has chosen to answer. Yet, as she walks into the higher end of the akasen, she is stunned by what she sees.

The street that her brothel is on, destroyed.

Buildings on this street all sport some sort of damage, and a few are still hissing and smoldering against all odds. There is rubble in the place of the building that once housed her, and the grand sign that welcomed patrons is shattered on the ground. She notices bodies on the ground, lying in coagulated blood on the street, dirtied by the stagnant water and apathetic world. There are only a few, but the tale is telling.

There is only one person alive in this place.

A familiar head of steel speckled dark hair catches her eyes, and she has to bite back a bitter wave of despair. She has never seen Kagami look so old. Stooped low as she picks through the ruins of the block like a crane stepping through water. Her back is hunched and her robe is torn. She looks like this village, she looks like a broken beauty.

Creeping through the demolished streets, she feels dread settle in her gut.

Her footsteps leave prints in the grime that has formed from the ash and dust from the wreckage, and they stand out a peculiar grey against the black. The old woman turns as she makes herself known, but doesn't say a word. Her once frightening and stern eyes are hollow and cold, drained from the force of whatever happened. She lifts a single, gnarled hand and points to a kimono clad form on the streets. Ryuishi's heart leaps into her throat.

Slowly, ever so slowly she makes her way to the body, already knowing who it once was.

She squats in the layers of soot and water before the pale skinned beauty who lies as still and broken before her like a shattered doll. She is dressed in a beautiful kimono stitched with autumn leaves, and her hands are perfectly manicured. They are so small, so clean.

Ryuishi feels cold regret sweep through her heart.

Keiko's face, once so clean and whole lies smashed in like a rotten pumpkin. One of her dark eyes is still staring up at the sky, while the other is like clear jelly, popped and smeared with grey matter and bone shards. Red hunks of flesh like fish guts are all that remain of her right side. Half of her long, beautiful hair is still pinned up in an elegant updo that lies matted in gore below her. No longer does she smell like cinnamon and perfume, but rather the smell of a skinned carcass fills the air, which is ripe with bile and rancid shit.

Ryuishi kneels before the corpse of the woman who brought her into this world and brushes her cheek softly, before closing her eyes forever.

She feels a presence behind her, standing over the splattered remains of a whore and her child. "What happened?" she asks quietly. Her voice is a husky whisper, laced with venom. She needs to know.

Kagami reads this, and her own tone is bitter when she speaks. "Shinobi on leave," she answers in a clipped, concise manner. "Out in the brothels for a good time. They were rowdy and drunk. There was gambling, an argument over a bet."

Ryuishi closes her eyes. "Did they mean to…?"

"No," the once-matron tells her on the graveyard of her life's work, "This is just collateral."

Cold, quiet rage blooms in her heart and pumps through her veins like poison. "Will there be compensation? Punishment?" she asks, fully knowing the answer to come.

"No," Kagami answers quietly.

This, she thinks, is it. This is the last straw, the one that will cut her forever. She has given this filthy, wrecked shithole of a village every fucking chance and it has spit on her for the last goddamned time.

Eleven years. Eleven fucking years she has lived this horror, this extravagant lie. She pretended that the nightmares never happened, that she was never attacked and assaulted when she was four. She told herself she couldn't feel a dead man's fingers on her thighs and his breath on her face. She would dream of it, screaming out for help with no one to answer her calls, that faces would laugh and tell her that they could make her feel good. She said that she could still trust strangers and that the world was okay, because he was _deaddeaddead_.

She told herself that she would accept the fact that a hundred, a fucking _hundred_ children died for no goddamn reason at all. She chanted it over and over again as their accusing faces stared up at her. As their broken, mangled bodies dragged her down into hell, reminding her that she should have known, she should have saved them all. She represses her memories of the smell in the air, the memories of a little Hozuki boy with pure white hair and laughing purple eyes, children playing little games. _If they do not exist, then they cannot die_, she told herself, shoving it all down and locking it up.

She lied through her teeth and told herself that it could get better, that she could last through a war and be okay. That in the end she would be alright, but here she is looking at the corpse of this body's mother and she can't even cry. To her, Keiko has become another statistic, a civilian casualty in a shinobi struggle. The battlefield stalks her at night and claims her soul in the day. She hears the telltale crackle of fire when it is not there, and the whistling of kunai cutting the air when it does not exist. She shakes and dreams of waking up bathed in white hot fire.

She pretends that she does not feel guilt for outliving her squad, for deceiving her teammates. For lying to children's faces every day, because the boys she has come to love know nothing about her. She acts like she is not mourning the family and friends she knew for years before this. That she does not cry for a lifetime that existed before this.

This village has ruined her, warped her from the person she was, and it will pay dearly for creating such a monster. It will regret the day it forced her into its ranks and taught her how to kill. It will weep bitter tears and beg for mercy, and she will show them what they showed her. Kiri has no mercy.

This city will be nothing but ash by the time she is done. She will set it ablaze and salt the earth so that nothing can grow here ever again.

When she stands, her fists tremble with anger by her side. "Kagami," she says and her voice is so cold, so empty as she stands beside her birth giver's corpse.

The broken woman looks at her, the child she called lucky, as she transforms into something she has never seen before. The air around the child roils with something dangerous and deceptively calm, a placid surface that hides the currents below.

"Do you want vengeance?"

The woman, who is only alive due to her past skills as a kunoichi, looks, really looks at the child before her. She has known from the day she was born that this girl was not meant to be, that this child was strange and unnatural.

She has known her from the moment of her birth, but looking at her now, she doesn't think she has known anything at all.

The girl's hands are fisted and shaking by her side, her body tense and ready to burst. Chakra oozes from her pores, weeping a strange, unnatural hollowness that makes the old woman's skin break out into goosebumps. Her breathing is slow and tightly controlled, her chest heaving to a timed beat. Her hair moves like tentacles around her face and the very mist in the air shifts to answer her call.

Ah, but it is her eyes, her dark, endless eyes that key the tired woman in. There is no sorrow in them as she stands by her mother's corpse, only regret. They are empty and forever, spinning madly with the something she cannot name. In them she sees worlds she has never known, and the haunting emptiness of forever. She sees war and famine and destruction.

In her eyes, Kagami sees the promise of death.

Standing in the tattered robes she has worn for two long days, her hair grimy and unclean, the aged matron feels like a mortal before a spirit. She sees something she cannot comprehend, something that the living were not meant to know, a creature from a fairy tale thought only to exist in the stories of children and old monks.

Physically, Kagami is taller, but she feels like a speck of dust to the child, a fly caught in a spider's web. Her presence looms out unchained and swallows the world around them, devouring it all with a careless hunger.

Silently, the thing, (because it is not a girl, its eyes are _emptyemptyempty_) stretches out a hand.

"If you do everything I say, I will make them suffer."

The old woman thinks on it, the village which has forsaken her, the place that threw her away when the first wrinkles lined her face. The home that has taken everything from her. She thinks of the uncertain future promised by a spirit hiding in a child's body, the pain and the bloodshed she says she will rain down.

In the crumbled ruins of the her life's work, she reaches out her wrinkled hand and laces her fingers with the girl's, and she sells her soul for the very chance of revenge.

They leave the rubble and the corpses behind them, and Kagami packs up the last of her bags. Ryuishi leaves her with instructions on what to do. Discreetly, but quickly, the old matron will make rounds to every brothel owner she trusts and spread the word. She will be a messenger, a leader, and a hand of Ryuishi. The girl herself leaves for another destination.

Her mind is a jumbled mess and she can't think straight. Her personalities are mixing up, blending and obscuring. She can't remember who she is supposed to be anymore, what she is supposed to do. All she knows is the plans she has constructed, the web her spiders have woven, the girl she has raised.

She stalks the streets like a staggering drunk in her mind, weaving in and out of focus, her blurry vision fading and then sharpening. What she is going to do is traitorous, treasonous and foul. If anything goes wrong she will die, and those that follow her will die with her.

She doesn't care anymore.

(Maybe, this time, she can go back. She can go back to her own home and meet her family again. There will be cars and computers and arguments at midnight. Maybe it's better if she dies. She was never meant to be here.)

To any outward observer though, her steps are clean and precise. Her head is held high and she is keenly aware.

(This is a lie. She is a lie.)

She makes it to the trade district, sees a flash of feathers and torn robes. She breathes in deep, and whistles high and loud in the shadows of the village.

The previously empty spaces between warehouses fill with curious, mistrustful eyes. The ghosts of the mist peek out to gaze upon the one who has cried out their call.

"Bring me Hanako," she hisses at her spiders, "Tell her that her the one that knows you matter has come with a choice."

Sharp little eyes cut through the fog, disbelieving and awed. She hear the footfalls of runners being sent off, the quickened breathing of the nameless. A few even step out of the shadows to look at her, the one they have spoken of in myths. The one who started the tribe, the founder of the family. She is younger than some would expect, and she looks deceptively innocuous.

(She has always hidden in plain sight.)

_This_, they whisper, _is the one_. _This is the creature who taught us how to find food and gather clean water. This being brought us together, showed us how to hide from prying eyes and dangerous hands, to come together as a tribe. She left us food in the alleyways, and gifts in the night._

Ryuishi stands before them, leaking that same uneasy aura. She has never been deaf or dumb. She knows what Hanako has made her to be, the stories the nameless tell at night. Ryuishi never left her children alone to face the world, because they are hers. She created them, pushed them together and molded their minds. She shoved past the front of useless gutter orphans and saw potential in the children, who were so desperate for love and affection. She saw the hungry need for acceptance when she was four years old, and she gave it to them. She planted seeds inside Hanako and the two, who planted seeds of their own. She fed them ideas that had no place in this world, thoughts of equality and human rights. She told them that they were enough, that being alive was enough, and she would accept them no matter what.

She spoon fed them things they needed to hear and manipulated their lives, until they took a shape that pleased her.

Here she stands, watching a crowd of ghosts gather before her, each infected with philosophies and ideas that are revolutionary in comparison to a caste system. She poisoned the eastern philosophies of feudal systems and clans with her own words, planted a seed and watered it so it grew and flowered. The product of years of plotting stands before her, wily and sly.

Her offspring have grown into the backbone of this village. She started with children, those who were younger and older than her, and over the years those children grew. The nameless became the dock workers, the restaurant chefs, the stall keepers and store owners. They were the drug dealers and the whores, the day laborers and the maids, the cobblers and the apprentices. She stole the entire generation of the lower class in secret and she made them hers.

A blonde head parts the crowd.

Hanako, her beautiful girl, stands before her almost a woman grown. She is older than her by years, and her beautiful eyes have turned into gems. Her body has welcomed the changes of adulthood gleefully, and though she is still thin, she is healthy as well. She is fierce and proud, and her wild hair is filled with braids and tokens.

"I knew it," she whispers, rushing up to the child she called teacher, "I knew yah'd keep your word!"

Then she is rushing forward, and Ryuishi has to fight down the urge to go on offensive. She throws her small arms wide open and accepts the embrace from her first student. Her arms are warm and tight, and Ryuishi shoves down the guilt for the gauntlet she has put this child through. Years of waiting were never easy, she knew from experience.

"I said I'd come back with a choice, didn't I?" she answers, slipping into her role.

The teenager leans back from the hug and determination sparkles in her eyes. Her hands tighten minutely on the eleven year old's shoulder, as if to make sure she is real. Sometimes, Hanako had doubted that the child she knew would ever come back. She thought her young teacher, the first one to show her love, would never come back. She had heard rumors of a dark haired girl's skill as a kunoichi, the way people called her a monster. She heard that only one girl had survived the slaughter of an entire group of children, that she had been paired with demons for a team. She had thought that she had been forsaken.

Then she heard the stories of gifts in the alleyways, she caught glimpses of the growing child on treks to other districts. She saw the same girl from the rumors interact with demons, she saw the way the monsters looked at her with affection and comfort.

She had shown them love too, Hanako had thought, and her heart had been put at ease.

Because no matter what people said, she still loved. Her teacher still cared for them, still left gifts at the open end of dirty dens. She loved so much that she gave it away to demons and monsters, to ninja and soldiers.

Hanako feels a hand, unfamiliar and callused, close around hers in a familiar way. She looks and sees the same dark, empty eyes and long lashes. The nostalgic warm smile and clean, dark hair. She squeezes it tight.

"Yah, ya did," answers the blond.

"You know what I am offering, then?"

Hanako feels unease, but looks out to the gathering crowd. The ones she hand picked, the people she has grown beside. They look at her with the same respect she gives them, they teach her the same way she teaches them. Her people. Her tribe.

_They deserve better_, she thinks. _They deserve to be safe and warm, to have their voices heard when they cry out. _

She looks back to the thing that looks so much like a little girl, the nameless spirit born from the mist. Her eyes are empty and her skin is cold, but her soft smile is so warm, so promising. The plan they began years ago is coming to a head, and Hanako knows she should be nervous and afraid. She knows the consequences if they fail, if it does not work. She has gone over it a million times, has tweaked here and improvised there. She knows what should happen better than almost anyone else. Only her teacher knows more.

"I do," she says.

"Know that there will be no consequences from me if you do not. Tell everyone that it is their free choice," her teacher says solemnly, "But let them know that the waiting is over, and that it will happen whether they join or not. Be warned, It will not be pretty."

Hanako holds the girl's gaze and breathes deep.

"Day after tomorrow, Hanako. We have one day to gather our things and say goodbye. If you and your tribe are in, I need to know by tonight."

Hanako's face is grim, but she nods. That is soon, but the boats and the bags and the bottles are ready. They have been ready for years now. The idea that the plan is happening, finally happening, with so little warning, well… It numbs her a bit.

"I will gather them all and offer the choice," she says quietly. She feels a cold hand squeeze her own again, and the comfort it offers is welcome.

"When you are ready, ask for Watanabe Ryuishi. I will see you tonight," she whispers in her ear, slipping from the blonde's grasp.

The teenager watches her go with the rest of the crowd, eyes all locked on the proud form of their benefactor. She has never forgotten what it was like to watch her easy, stalking gait, or the melancholy way it felt to see her go. As she turns to her people, she smiles.

She finally has a name to give her teacher.

* * *

><p>Ryuishi's mind is a mess, and the soft rage that boils beneath her skin is heady and strong. Tonight she will have her answer and meet her army. Tomorrow they will lay the last traps.<p>

On the third day, Kiri will burn.

Her spiders will escape to the four corners of this world, infect every shinobi nation and elemental country with her brand. They will sing the song of western ideals, and slowly, so slowly, things will change.

Her tribe will go out, and Kagami's whores will go with them. The will leave the trade gates in boats, bags carrying their whole lives on their backs. They will forage and thrive off the land like she has taught them, and they will travel. Her flowers will be caught up in the wind and wave, and their seeds will be planted in new lands in foreign soil. They with bloom like gutter weeds, and the ideas she has given them will burn through this world.

This is what she has been planning for her whole life. Everyday since she saw the power gap, the need for a social leader. Sneaking through mists and teaching the nameless to be ghosts so that they never caught the Kage's attention, Danzo's attention. When she sets this powder keg off it will burn so fast, so bright, that no one will be able to turn away and ignore.

Some people might have tried to change the characters, to befriend the villains and prevent deaths. Someone else may have spread the knowledge of the future around so that it would have to change a little bit. They might have informed their Kage, been taken for a tool.

Ryuishi took the sideline characters, the background world itself and set it to explode. She made faceless people stand up and rise, she gave them rights, the ability to say no. Leaders will look at street rats and gutter urchins and know that if they treat them wrong, if they deny them, they will rise up. They may die, but they will die tearing at the structure of the village and the social classes. The ninja will strike out in fear, but you can not kill an idea.

How much will they push the civilians around when they can embargo them? How will ninja villages survive without trade goods like metals, foods, textiles, woods, glass, herbs and liquors?

If her people die here, it still will not be over. The nameless have become merchants and traders already. She infected every orphan in every war torn villages she came across on mission with ideas. If they die, they become martyrs.

She is eleven years old, and has undermined the social order.

There is only one thing Ryuishi never, ever planned for, and that was to meet a blue boy with a smile full of knives. She never counted on the boy with spiky hair and dark brown eyes. They were variables she never saw.

She never counted on making friends with two boys who were born to die in canon. She never foresaw herself coming to depend on them so hard, to love them so very very much. For them, Ryuishi had stopped all of her plans for a long time, but not even they could make her stay here forever. This village is toxic, it is a poison, and she can no longer live with the way it is killing her.

They are her best friends. Her family. Her world, and she has to leave them behind.

She cannot do it without saying goodbye, without giving them one last gift.

She slowly, so very slowly, makes her way back to her bunk room in the barracks. She doesn't want to do this. She doesn't want to leave them behind in this cold world, to abandon them to their fates.

In her mind, part of her is screaming. They are her boys, her wonderful, psychotic, monstrous little boys. She wants them by her side forever and always. The part wants to smother them in warmth and love and kindness, to protect them forever and always, to take away the hurts they have seen. She wants to sleep in a big bed with them at her sides, her arms around them. She wants to see Kisame roll his eyes and finally fill out his tall body with muscle. She wants to play with his course blue hair and feed him his favorite foods every night. Ryuishi wants to watch as Zabuza finally takes the sword he was born to have and ascend to his rightful place. She wants to wrestle with him and tease him. She wants an atmosphere filled with snark and violence and family.

Another part of her knows that no matter how much she loves them, no matter how much she will yearn for them, they need to grow without her. They need to make themselves into the men she knows they can be, and for this to happen, she must leave. She must do the best for the tribe she has created and the civilians she has lead on, because she made them what they are and the responsibility is hers.

(This is another lie she tells herself, another excuse she forces down.)

She knows that after this, Kisame will hate her. He always hated liars and dishonesty, and to him, becoming a missing nin is the worst thing someone could do. It will be her ultimate betrayal to him, abandoning her unit.

Zabuza will stew quietly at the disobedience of his tool. He will be foul for weeks after she leaves, and spit on her name. He might not hate her, but he will always make her regret not following him.

She takes the stairs one step at a time, heaving herself up for to her room. She has some gifts to give, some time to spend before she disappears in chaos and destruction.

Ryuishi opens the door to her bunk and set to work, packing away the meager material possessions she has come to collect in this world, stowing away things for a journey that will likely last a very, very long time. She doesn't have her kimono from the Okiya, or the ribbons and perfumes that Keiko gave her.

(Keiko is dead, and she hadn't seen her in years. It aches.)

What she has is a weapons maintenance kit gifted to her by Kisame when he noticed that her blades were getting dull. A set of kunai she has yet to use from Zabuza, who was always hoping her aim would improve. She has the ingredients to their favorite foods, their preferred dried goods. She has a picture of them pinned to her wall, all nostalgic and tiny. It was not too long after they got recruited to the front lines, and she had forced the two in to take a picture at some podunk town in the middle of nowhere. They were glowering at her and she was smirking at the camera, pleased as punch. Right after that they had eaten most of her candy stash and refused to sleep next to her that night. They had glared at her from across the way in a show of pissed off male solidarity.

She carefully unpins it from the wall and cradles it in her hands.

These boys have written themselves across her life. They have watched her cry, watched her rage, watched her cuss and joke and plead. They have seen her brought canyon low and ride the mountainous heights.

She loves them, and she is going to betray them.

Her mind is a mess and the anger at the world still bubbles under her skin like molten stone in her veins. It mixes with absolute and complete sorrow. Together they form a passionate frustration. Frustration at the world, the government, the feudal system, at herself.

(She does not want to leave them.)

She hates who she is so much. She absolutely and completely loathes how easy this is, how simple it is for her to turn her back on them, to cast a whole world into civil war. Stinging, bitter tears leak from the corners of her eyes.

She didn't want to come here. She didn't want to go to war. She didn't want second puberty and its damn hormones or to make friends with children whose deaths she has read.

She wants her family. She wants hot coffee and her old house. She wants to introduce her boys to her best friend, and them show them the wonders of mexican food and comic books. She wants to play with her little sister, the brightest light in her life. She wants to rub it into her cousin's face like the petty child she is that she met actual, honest to god Naruto characters, then laugh as one bakes them delicious food and the other tells awful jokes.

Why can't she stop crying? She's supposed to be angry at them for what they represent. She's supposed to be happy that her plans are coming along.

All she feels is empty and cold, like the Void.

Ryuishi slides against the wall, staring at their dumb, scowling faces and weeps like the little girl she is. Her tears are hot and salty, and so, so sad.

She loves them, she thinks. She loves them all so fucking much. Her family, her friends, her world, her boys. _Shelovesthemshelovesthemshelovesthem—_

She cannot have them.

Her bag is by her side, ready to go. Her weapon is wrapped around her, set for action, but here she is, bawling her eyes out. She loved this village too, she thinks. She loved this world. It was her favorite, a long time ago, but now she loathes it so much.

She always knew that to really hate something, you had to love it once.

Her quiet, wet sobs shake her entire body and drive the air from her lungs. It's messy, and she looks horrible, but she is alone in her room and nobody will ever know. The picture she holds is carefully, slowly put in her pack with the portraits she painted so long ago, the ones that have faces like hers. In a weatherproof box in the bottom of her bag, she puts the pictures of her family together and locks them up tight.

"I will always love you," she whispers thickly. Her tongue is heavy in her mouth and her face red and wet.

"Always."

* * *

><p>Zabuza is sharpening his sword when his tool walks in. She is quieter about it than usual, slipping through the seam of the open door and shutting it behind her. Her usually defiant face is hidden and turned at the floor, and she is fiddling with something in her hands. He does not falter, or even acknowledge her existence as she breathes deeply, the way she does when she is nervous before battle, or when she wakes up from a night terror. It is a calm, collected thing that goes by a rhythm he knows by heart.<p>

Seven in, hold four, seven out.

He can count it like the fingers on his hands or the knives in his pouches. He knows her instinctively, the habits she does, the food she eats, the way she talks. She is his favorite tool.

Silently, and he is certain now that she is much too quiet, she glides to his side, where she belongs, still not showing her his face. It's beginning to really piss him off.

She keeps fiddling with that box in her hands, and watching him run the sharpening stone down his blade, lulling them into a quiet companionship. The air around her bubbles with a chaotic energy, and she seems to be content to just sit at his side for a while, absorbing his presence.

Not that he isn't pleased with the development, but there is still something… off about it.

Finally, after what seems like forever, the edge of his weapon is razor sharp. He wipes it down and slips in inside its sheath. She sits there, staring at the dirty hem of her pants the whole time. When he gets back and sits down on the stiff cushion of his bunk once more, she quietly slides the box over without a word. He grunts and accepts it. Finally, fealty from his tool. This is proper behavior.

Opening the small white square, he is confused to find a charm. A glittering gold medallion attached to a short but sturdy loop of chain, designed to dangle off the hilt of a blade. He picks it up and runs a thumb over its lustrous surface, taking in the engravings on it. A demon mask, a stylized shark, and a mermaid, all wrapped in chains. It is aesthetically pleasing, he thinks, but why did she get—?

"You can find me with it, just show it to the kids in the akasen," she says, and her voice causes him to look up. When he does, his blood boils.

Her eyes are red and puffy, swollen from tears. He can see where she washed her face because the skin is pink and soft against the tan.

"Who?" he demands, and she smiles the warmest, kindest smile he has ever seen cross her face. It isn't her usual smirk, or her bawdy grin. This isn't the fond one she gives him when he eats his food without complaints, or the feral upturn of lips she gets when they fight. It is so open, so different than what he knows.

"I'm taking care of it," she answers, and he feels like he is missing something, like he doesn't understand.

His heart most definitely does not skip a beat when she takes his hand in hers, and what is he missing? What is going on? Her hand is cold like usual, and her calluses are rough against his own, but her palms are so soft, her hands so small against his own.

"Zabuza," she says, and he doesn't know what her voice is doing. She looks so happy, so vulnerable and weak, but her husky voice is so empty and… and he doesn't know. He isn't good at these things. She's the one who's supposed to explain what people are doing and why they act weird. Is she broken again?

"Thanks for being my friend."

He grunts because he doesn't know what else to say.

"You should go for the Kubikiribocho soon. I think you could whip that old man's ass," she tells him, and what is the point of this? What is happening? He demands to know.

She squeezes his hand and stands up, her feet hitting the ground softly. Why did she give him a gift? Why is she here?

"Keep that gift, it's going to become pretty valuable one day," she says, looking at the door.

"Sure," he answers her, eyes following their joined hands. She turns to look at him, staring at his face for a long time. He doesn't get what is happening.

Slowly, so very slowly, she leans down from where she is standing and her free hand raises up to run through his hair. He stiffens under the contact, and most assuredly, in no way, does he blush. He would kill anyone who ever said so.

Then, most surprising of all, she kisses his forehead, and he thinks… he can't think. He is very confused, but his impassive, stoic face never shows it.

Her smile is so happy, so accepting as she watches him, her hand clasped tightly with his. "I love you," she tells him, and his mind blanks out.

He can feel his hand slip out of hers, and her soft lips leave his skin as she pulls away and turns toward the door again. He cannot see her face again, and his vision is full of her retreating form.

This feels big, like it's important. His instinct is telling him that something strange is going on, but he doesn't understand what it is or what to do about it. She pauses with her hand outstretched to turn the knob and leave.

"Neh, Zabuza?" she asks, and her tone is so quiet, he almost can't hear it.

"What?" he asks, and his voice is as gruff as ever.

"We'll meet down on that beach in south one day, right?"

He takes his time, and he thinks he is slowly beginning to understand the implications of her words and actions. He isn't sure, but he has a sinking suspicion. His brown eyes harden with determination and ferocity.

"I'll find you," he tells her, and it is something like a promise.

He doesn't see her smiling sadly at the door, or feel the shudder she holds back. He never notices her grasp turn white knuckled, or feel the panic that tells her to stay, _just stay_. Don't leave him. He never hears her gulping down a second wave of tears, battling back another breakdown.

What he does see is her cracking open the door and sliding through, quiet like a ghost.

* * *

><p>There is a knock at the door as Hoshigaki Kisame is idly flipping a kunai through the air. He tosses it up from his laid position on the bed, watching it spin through the air lazily as he answers.<p>

"Come in."

He catches the wrapped hilt in his hand, feels the weight of it in his palm, and with a flick of his wrist, embeds it it to the corner of his room, right on the seam. Six other kunai stick out in a straight line below it.

He turns to view the newcomer and is mildly surprised to see the girl of his team standing before his closed door, face turned downward, a long box in her hands. Usually she doesn't knock.

"Ryuishi?" he asks, leaning up from the pillows, bracing his weight on his elbows.

"I got you a present," she blurts out, stretching out the hand with the box.

He isn't stupid. Something is definitely wrong here. Her voice is broken and heavy and she still won't show him her face. What the hell happened? Did her and the other brat have a spat? Does she have a black eye again? Man, she really is a vain little thing. Still, he takes the box from her, wondering what the occasion is.

He looks at the plain white rectangle, then up to her. "What for?" He doesn't catch her bitter smile.

"I saw it and thought of you," she answers, and well. That's definitely unusual.

He shrugs it off and opens it carefully, wary of it exploding in his face. She hasn't pulled a prank yet, but she seems like the type.

Inside, surrounded by flimsy white tissue paper is something his is sure cost a lot of money. He doesn't know what to say, because it really isn't his style, but it is something. He lifts up the chain wrapped braided cord and admires the quality of the metal. It is sturdy, strong enough to withstand breakage in a fight and made from many little pieces that could be useful if there was ever a need. In the center, wrapped by sturdy wire, is a glittering blue opal that gleams like the light through water. All in all, it is very pretty, but he isn't a chick. Necklaces aren't really him.

"The cords can unravel and are sturdy enough to be lock-picks or a garrote," she says hurriedly, fiddling with her now empty hands. Her voice is shaking and he thinks she might be trembling a little. "If you don't like how it looks it's still really useful and—"

"Brat, what happened?" he demands, placing his gift to the side.

When she looks up at him, he is lost. Her face is red and there are fresh tears running down her cheeks, and yes she is definitely trembling.

(She will never see him again, she is going to miss him so so much. She loves him, she loves them both.)

Kisame is silent because usually she isn't like this. Sometimes she'll cry about stupid things, like the time she found out their ages. Even then she'll hide her face, but this, this is different. Her eyes are watery and filled with something he doesn't understand, and she looks at him like he might disappear at any second. She's smiling warm and open like it will cover up the fact that she is weeping.

He is lost.

"Can I… can I play with your hair?" she asks, and he flashes back to the first day he met her, a petulant child with an attitude bigger than the whole village. She looks bigger now, here in his room, but still so small.

He doesn't say a word, and she takes it for acquiescence, or maybe she knows he doesn't know what to say. She stands before him as he sits up and reaches out her arms up and out, stretching her cold fingers across his skin like they were kids again, only she is smiling and crying.

Tentative, shaking fingers brush across the the length of his cheeks, the skin of his temple, the expanse of his brow. Slowly, sadly, they make their way up to his hair and settle in his his hair gently running over his scalp like a breeze on his skin.

For a while, they just stay there like that. She runs her hands over his head and memorizes the features of his face with her fingertips, like she is going to forget what he looks like. For some reason, he just lets her.

They must seem like a moving painting, the fading light of evening filtering through his window and illuminating them both. The little girl caressing the monster's face, smiling as she weeps for something unknown.

He can feel how heavy the air is, how much something is off. There is a discordance in the world around him, a weight that he usually only feels before battle. Only, his blood is pumping like a raging river in his veins and he feels no need to destroy. He thinks it might be similar to the way his skin prickles before a hard storm, or the tightness in his chest he gets when he sees his unit hurt.

Something about it feels sacred.

"What happened?" he asks again, breaking the silence with a hushed whisper.

She shakes her head and that stupid, caring smile doesn't leave her face once.

"I love you," she tells him, and he is floored by the statement. It isn't a confession, the way he has seen some people get them on the streets. It isn't a joke or a jest. It is just a simple statement, three small words that he has never heard directed at him before. It is a declaration of loyalty, of compassion and care.

He thinks to all the wounds she has taken for him, the hurts she has nursed away from their sights. The way she stares up at the night sky and the grins she gives them as they joke over meals.

He feel the soft press of lips against his brow, the wet press of tear stained cheeks against his skin and warm arms wrapping tightly around him, grasping on like she is afraid to fall forever. The the cold arms loosen and she looks him over again, forcing that grin onto her face. He wants to tell her to stop, to knock it off. Where is the joke? What is happening?

"You can use my gift to find me, when you want to," she tells him, and why does he need to find her? She is right there. She'll always be right there.

"Just use the akasenko," she says, and she slips away, dancing like a leaf on a lake's surface.

He doesn't understand. Is it a riddle? He doesn't figure it out, and she slips out towards his door.

"I'm sorry," she whispers.

"Don't be," he tells her, because she shouldn't be sorry for whatever this is. It's okay if she is weird in front of him. She has always been weird. He accepted it the day they met.

She doesn't answer him this time, and he watches her leave with confusion in his head and dread in his heart.

He clutches the necklace tight.

* * *

><p>Ryuishi hitches the bag high on her shoulder and looks out to a serious blond haired teenager who nods at her.<p>

The tribe has accepted.

She casts one last look around her, absorbing the image of the village that had housed her for so long, lingering on the barracks to her back, to the boys she loves. She shoves down the regret, the remorse, the guilt and turns back around. She takes a step forward, and her feet carry her away.

There is a village to destroy, and nothing will stop what she has started.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Well, there it is. The main point of Ryuishi's scheming, the height of her plans at the moment. Now, take a look back and read it in that new light, that our twisted little girl has been plotting the downfall of Kiri for a long, long time. Her head never got fixed, trauma after trauma only exasperated the problem and she is shattering to pieces with no one to catch her. Will it work out? Will she die? Will her actions change anything? I know it might seem sudden and OOC, but remember that Ryuishi has a lot of sides to her, and most of them are pretty fucked up.<strong>

**Now we begin the real trials.**

**A shout out to all my readers, sorry for all the feels! Thank you for my followers, favoriters and Reviewers.**

**Blessings for my Beta who had to deal with this monsterous chapter and all the feels as well, we love you ENBI!**


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